A/N - Wondering what's happening to Célestine?
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The next few days Captain Charles Anson Miller and Katrine were inseparable. During the day, he occupied himself with official matters, clearing out the offices and preparing them for the original tenants before the town's occupation. He took down the Matisse and gazed long at the still life of oranges. He knew it was Katrine's Matisse because she had given him a description of it when she told him about it at her home.
He wanted to surprise her, for she believed her painting was lost, stolen from her home. He always thought that Lucien Blériot had stolen the painting and sold it to some German who in turn sold it to Schult. If Katrine had ever visited the top floor office of the garrison, she would have known about it. Not even Brigitte knew and she had visited the building a few times, according to Berry. Besides, considering the condescension with which Schult and Welthagen viewed the Frenchwomen, Katrine would hardly have been allowed in the inner sanctum of German decision making.
Miller prepared his men for their new orders, and had Davis sit with him to work out various assignments for their platoons. The men were raring to go, although a few of them had been identified by the medical staff as suffering from post traumatic stress. They had seen their comrades fall, had walked or run next to a partner and survived only because he was running on the right, the partner on the left. They had seen their friends blown up as they unsuspectingly stepped on a landmine or a drifting grenade.
Cruikshank had been with them when he was shot, bullet to the chest. These were young men who needed to be encouraged, to talk about what troubled them, to remain steadfast.
"They depend on us to fight for them, Captain, all those people in camps who have done nothing wrong."
"Yes, that is why we go on, Private Enslin."
Katrine busied herself with provisions for the Coeur de Lion. Now that the German presence was no more, all their provisions, which belonged to St. Clair anyway, had been shared among the stores, restaurants and bakeries. She consulted with her Resistance team about a new purpose, that of visiting door to door to deliver parcels of food. There was always something to do and they did it well. It was surprising that the men who had threatened to humiliate them in public now dived in to help any way they could. Gilles Rimbaud became her fiercest ally. Katrine was Katrine, Charlie thought. She had no animosity towards Rimbaud and the others.
So St. Clair settled down quietly in the aftermath of the battle.
At night, he dressed up and sat at the same table he'd sat at the first time. Katrine would sit by him and chat for a few minutes before she tended to her other patrons. Ian Baxter surprised one and all by playing a Spanish piece on his guitar. Charles had no clue what it was but it sounded beautiful, Baxter's fingers rolling over the strings reminding him of water droplets falling unendingly. Katrine later told him it was a piece by the Spanish composer, Albinez.
Wainwright sang, accompanied by Claude on the piano. He sounded like Caruso. His men were enjoying themselves, enjoying the calm before another storm that would hit them soon. He drank very little, the Shiraz wine fast becoming his favourite. One evening Davis came to his table when he was sitting alone.
"So...Katrine."
"Yes, Katrine. What of it?"
"There's a bet going that St. Clair won't be the end of Captain Miller and Katrine. I stand to win ten packs of cigarettes!"
"Davis, you would sell your soul for cigarettes?"
"Just the thought of winning, Captain!"
"Davis, it's my business, understand?"
"Oh, we understand fully."
"And what is that?"
"Why, Captain, no one stands guard outside Katrine's home. They reckon her guard is inside."
"Get out of here, Davis," he said, smiling as he looked where the others were sitting. They'd simply pulled two tables together so that eight of them could sit around it. Longman waved, Compton made faces and Linklater pointed to something on the third finger of his left hand. A little embarrassed that they were watching him, he turned to the food on the table.
He waited until after twelve when Katrine had finished her business, locking the doors and walking with her to her home. She usually looked stunning in her white attire, but at other times she wore a dress the colour of mustard, her tiny waist accentuating her slim figure. She looked like every actress he'd seen the very few times he'd been to the movies. In her home, they couldn't get out of their clothes quickly enough to feed hungrily on one another.
Tonight she smiled when she locked the door of the Coeur de Lion.
"What?" he asked as she hooked her arm through his as they walked to her home.
"I sometimes think of Joseph, what he'd say to me."
"Didn't you tell me that he told you to save yourself?"
"Yes," she said on a sigh. "He said that. He knew, I think."
"That you would one day get on with your life? That he'd say it is as it should be?"
Katrine stopped abruptly, turning in his embrace. In the light from the streetlamp, he saw her eyes shining.
"I did not think I could ever be happy again."
"I never thought I would find a soul mate."
Sighing again, she leaned into him, then turned to walk to her door.
She gazed at him, her eyes suddenly darting with delight.
"So, Captain Charles Anson Miller, would you care to make yet another memory with me?"
"I never say no to such a delicious invitation!"
"Let's get inside. I do believe we are observed."
Hours later Katrine lay on her back with Charles on his side bracing himself on his elbow. With his free hand he caressed her skin, pausing to drop a feather light kiss on her hair, her closed eyes, thrills going through him as she murmured his name softly.
Then he leaned in to kiss her again, her lips warm and pliant as they opened under his. A sting behind his closed eyelids caused him to give a sob. She broke the kiss, its heat and electrical impulses radiating from her, her warm breath fanning his face.
"Charles?"
"I feel like the world is spinning off its axis when I'm with you, when I touch you, when I kiss you. It...is disconcerting."
"You do not wish to be out of control?" she asked, intuitively understanding what he meant.
He brushed his lips against hers, this time a brief movement. Katrine's eyes widened.
"With you, it is impossible to remain in control!"
"You do not like the feeling?"
He bit his lip, frowning as some thought struck him.
"I lead one hundred and eighty men. Soon, perhaps, I will be leading a whole battalion of a thousand men. Their lives depend on good leadership. On the battlefield, I will always be responsible for them."
"I am a distraction, Charles Anson Miller?" she asked, smiling.
Charles's mouth twisted. He kissed her again, a deep kiss that elicited moans from them. Katrine pulled him down and shifted so that he lay over her. He flipped her atop him because his weight bore down heavily. Her breasts touched his chest, her legs straddled his. In an instant he was hard. Katrine moved, sliding down on his erection. Charles groaned as she began moving, thrusting into her. Minutes later they lay, sated and happy.
"That's better."
"Hmmm. You have not answered my question, Miller."
"Indeed, I have. I wanted to get up here and get dressed. There's a wedding to attend, or have you forgotten?"
"Oh!"
"Thank you, Mme du Pléssis!"
The Coeur de Lion - 30 July 1944
It could not have been a better day than the second last day of July. At midday the heat was cloying and summer seemed in no hurry to depart. In the Coeur de Lion, the tables and chairs were reshuffled. Two rows of chairs were separated by an aisle with the tables stacked against the walls. At the back of the restaurant was a double door which led to the kitchen and wine cellar.
Just in front of the counter was a small podium. There were decorations everywhere, a burst of colour with the iris blooms in vases on the windowsills. Two French flags hung from the ceiling.
Old Jean-Pierre and his wife Amélie Beaumont sat in the first row. When asked why he did not want to do the honours, his answer had been that his legs were not so strong to walk a bride up the aisle, that he wished another worthy person to take his place.
"I love you, Brigitte, but I am old. Your papa would understand, no?"
"Our papas are working in labour camps, Grand-pére! But I understand. I love you too. And I do know the right person to ask!"
"Who?"
"You shall see!"
So gradually the restaurant began filling with people - family, friends and US army soldiers who made up the rest of the congregation.
Solange stood on the right, singing "Cheek to cheek" softly, accompanied by Claude on the piano. Sgt. Ian Baxter sat close to Claude, strumming the strains of the song on his guitar.
At the podium, Monseigneur Girardieu shifted from one foot to the other. He wore no official raiment of the church, but a simple white cassock with a gold tassel. A cross hung round his neck. Katrine had entered in a blue dress. The skirt lapped at her calves, the bodice enhanced by shoulder pads.
Next to her stood Berry Beaumont, tugging at his shirt collar and looking uncomfortable in his black tuxedo. His sandy coloured hair was brushed back in a severe Rudolph Valentino hairstyle.
Robert Davis stood on his right, and Berry glanced at Davis with a look that seemed to say, "You are okay in my books now." Davis looked dashing in dress uniform, with the ever present red diamond on his left sleeve. The whistles from the soldiers' gallery had subsided after Davis had entered.
Katrine squeezed Berry's arm and he nodded. She raised her hand; a hush settled over the audience. Claude launched into a processional piece with Ian Baxter on guitar.
In the kitchen Captain Miller stood next to Brigitte. She was dressed in white lace, her hair adorned with a single stark iris. She looked a little nervous. A flash of his sister standing like this in her wedding gown, and him in dress uniform waiting for her to hook her arm through his. He blinked hard. Brides are brides, he decided, all nervous on their wedding day.
In formal dress uniform he looked extra military with an air of command about him. He touched Brigitte's arm, gave it a reassuring squeeze.
"I am sorry I flew at you that first day, Captain."
"Please, it's Charles. And no, you had every right. Friends?"
"Yes!" she said, her face transforming as she smiled at him.
"Come. The music has started. Bertrand is waiting for you."
"I have loved him since I was two years old. I got...distracted, you understand?"
"Completely. It's life. Let's go!"
They walked down the little aisle while everyone stood at attention. The soldiers of his regiment saluted when he passed them. When they reached Berry, Charles handed her over, looking Bertrand Beaumont straight in the eye.
"If you hurt her, I shall kill you with my bare hands," he hissed softly.
Berry clicked his heels and saluted.
Then Charles took his place next to Katrine who smiled up at him as he nodded to her. He took her hand in his, not caring if his men were going to rib him from St. Clair all the way to Paris. Monseigneur Girardieu smiled at Berry and Brigitte, very happy that they had now finally decided to grow up and not ride their bicycles up the aisle of St. Agnes Cathedral.
And Solange sang
Hold me close and hold me fast
The magic spell you cast
This is la vie en rose
Afterwards there was celebration and a lot of pictures taken.
5th Infantry Division
10th regiment
Company A
July 30 1944
Dearest Lynne
We are leaving St. Clair tomorrow and heading towards Paris. Do you remember me telling you that I spent my summer vacation in this beautiful town? And I told you about Brigitte? Well, our company entered the town to liberate it from the Germans.
I met Brigitte. My dear, you are very much assured that it is all water under the bridge now. Maybe it was a good thing that I met her and there were absolutely no hard feelings. Lynne, Brigitte is pregnant, the father of her baby a German officer who was stationed here. We routed the Germans and he was among the dead, killed by a long bullet from one of our crack snipers.
Anyway, Brigitte got married today, to her cousin! I bet she doesn't have to change her last name. Bertrand - everybody calls him Berry - swore to high heaven Brigitte's baby is his own unborn son. I guess the way people can look beyond imperfections or unattractiveness perceived by the community, or their special circumstances, every woman is beautiful. Berry saw only Brigitte's beauty and is ready to raise their son to race in the Tour de France one day.
It was good for me to have met her and her family again. I love you so much, I ache every time I think of you and the boys. Yes, we all grow up and grow away from the past fancies that we always thought loomed very large in our lives. Time has a way of making us look differently through pretty much the same lens!
My love to the boys!
Yours forever
Robert
Katrine tried not to think too much about the regiment leaving in the morning. She gazed at the sleeping Charles next to her, snoring softly. He looked at peace, she thought. The lines of strain were gone, though she knew it was only temporary. When they entered the battlefield again, he would be the strong, focused, dedicated warrior leading his troops, yet bearing the strain of command.
Sadness would always be a part of her, and when Charles was gone, it would deepen. She had given her heart to him, but like him, she was a warrior of a different kind, the kind that could take disappointments and the consequences of loss and absorb them fully into her being. For had she not done so for her husband and her daughter?
What now of Charles? He had breezed into her life when she thought life was over for her. For so long she had tried to pack up her troubles and keep smiling. For so long she had to be strong, and every day that passed chipped away her hard won resolve to maintain in control of her life, her emotions, her pain.
Charles had come into her life and he gave her a new hope, things to look forward to, made her understand that her beloved child was never gone but with her in spirit, that it was okay to cry occasionally for what she had lost. There had been so many times that she had thought she would never wipe another tear again because she had already shed them all. He taught her that her heart was the wellspring of tears and that it never dried.
What now of Charles? He would breeze out of her life. Would she ever see him again? He had never mentioned that what they had could last, if not forever, then for a time at least. Why did she feel as if the bottom of the world he had created with her was about to fall out? They were intimate, had made love many times, sat at the table and enjoyed an early breakfast, a late night snack. They listened together to her precious recordings of the great composers. She showed him a book about European art because he was so interested. Was that enough? Could she hold him to her and dream an impossible dream?
Sighing, she allowed the tears that welled in her eyes to roll down her cheek. He stirred when she snuggled closer, sleepily lifting his arm to hold her to him. She lay awake until her eyes began to droop and sleep finally overtook her.
When she woke in the morning, it was with a feeling of dread. Charles had already left her home. Slipping on her gown and slippers she walked to the lounge, hoping against hope to see him. No one was there, so she made her way to the kitchen where she busied herself with breakfast. She was shocked to see it was already past eight. She had not woken when Charles left.
The dread persisted. She heard a knock on her door and someone stepping inside. Her heart raced suddenly. Only Charlie tapped twice before entering. She rushed to the lounge, breathless with anticipation.
Charles Miller stood inside the door. This time he was in battle dress complete with helmet under one arm and rifle over the other. Balanced against his leg was a rectangular object wrapped in brown paper.
"Good morning, Katrine," he said, his face sombre.
"Good morning. I - I was afraid you would not come - "
"I had to see you before I left. Firstly, for this..." Charles picked up the gift and handed it to her.
She gazed at him, then at the object, frowning.
"Open it, please," he said.
She removed the brown wrapping carefully. She'd sensed it was a painting. Had she not wrapped dozens of art works half a lifetime ago and hid them in underground bunkers? Always treat the paintings carefully.
Then she gasped. Her tears spilled unceremoniously from her eyes as she stared at the painting. An old conversation from half a lifetime ago came rushing to her.
"Joseph! I found the Matisse!"
He had been in Berlin and she in Paris. Joseph had been so happy for her, so happy. They were her days of joy and sunshine - Joseph, Célestine and Katrine. She heard Charles's voice from a great distance.
"A Matisse which I found hanging in the main office of the German Headquarters. It was in the possession of Kommandant Jürgen Schult. He must have acquired it in Paris on his way to St. Clair. I have a theory that Lucien Blériot stole the painting and sold it to him."
"My Matisse..."
"Yes, still life with oranges. When I saw it hanging there, I knew that it was the one you described to me. You are currently its rightful owner and I thought you should have it."
"You waited until now?" she asked with a trembling in her voice, her eyes still brimming with tears.
"I wanted to surprise you. To let you know that there are still things in life that come back to us, things that are worth fighting for. It's sentimental. It's crazy, I know!"
She placed the Matisse carefully on the table and rushed to hug him tightly. His arms wound convulsively around her as he buried his face in her hair. They stood holding each other, as if both were in danger of drowning. She felt his lips pressing into her hair, her forehead, her lips when she lifted her face to look at him.
Charles blinked several times, then released her. He flipped his helmet and retrieved a letter from its inside band.
"We leave in an hour. Could you please read it after we have left St. Clair?"
Katrine could only nod as she took the letter from him. One last, pleading look she gave him. Then Captain Charles Anson Miller clicked his heels and saluted. A moment later he was gone.
Katrine looked around her. There was the last record he was playing on the small table next to the phonograph. On the mantelpiece where once a photo of her and Célestine stood was a sketch Charles had made, of eagles in flight.
"I'm not very good at this. Edward is really good."
"It's lovely because you made it for me."
"One day, Katrine, you will get back those things you were searching for..."
She'd smiled at his enigmatic words. Now she had gotten her Matisse back. Carefully she placed the painting on the table, deciding to dress first. She had an hour to get ready to say a final goodbye to Charles and the troops, to write a letter...
St. Clair - July 31 1944 town square
Everyone in the town came to say goodbye to the troops who had come to St. Clair and freed her from the Oppressor. The Germans were all gone now, most of them buried in mass graves outside the town's graveyard. Those who had surrendered were taken prisoner and marched off to Vidouville where a camp had been set up. C Company of the 10th regiment sent a platoon to escort the prisoners.
There had been great relief and merriment following the liberation of the town. But once the euphoria had died down, men of the town had assumed cloaks of righteous indignation and sought to shave the heads of women who had slept with the enemy. They were found out, by none other than the captain of the company of soldiers when he straight out accused them of cowardice. One such man left his son in the line of fire while he ran to save his own skin first. Their spineless act was mainly to conceal their own lack of involvement in the struggle for liberation.
First were the three jeeps followed by several trucks. Behind the trucks were the gun carriages and one tank. Then followed the emergency medical units as well as a vehicle carrying all official documents and reports of the events in St. Clair, including identification tags of the Germans who had died.
Eugene Linklater stood with Sandrine, a cigarette dangling from the side of his mouth. He had already kissed her inside her home and said goodbye to her there. They made promises that they'd write each other and keep in touch.
Brigitte and Berry stood with their grandparents.
"I am very sorry to see them go, Brigitte," said Berry.
"Nonsense. You're scared the captain will beat the snot out of you."
"That was a threat. You know that!"
"Francis Longman," she persisted, "told me Captain Miller broke a German's neck with his bare hands. They could hear his neck breaking from way up on a hill."
"Mon Dieu! I swear I will never, never hurt you, Brigitte!"
"That is good," Grand-mére said. "I raised you to take care of her, Bertrand!"
"I am outnumbered!" Berry complained.
"Good."
"Until my son is born!"
At which Brigitte and Grand-mére decided not to tempt Berry again.
Robert Davis had walked up to Gilles Rimbaud and faced off with the Frenchman. "More than anything, Rimbaud, women desire respect."
Rimbaud smiled, still looking chastened by being found out as a coward. "I have learned my lesson, Lieutenant."
"Take good care of that boy of yours!"
"I will."
Lamine stood next to Solange. They too, were sad to see the Americans leave. They'd had a great time with entertainment, with men who were tenors and played instruments. Of course, the American dollars that filled the coffers of the Coeur de Lion were very much appreciated. Now it would be back to normal and business as usual. They stood arm in arm, all thoughts of what happened between her and some Germans behind the St. Agnes Cathedral forgotten. Lamine simply told her, "We begin anew, Solange. All else must be the past."
He was very concerned though, for his friend Katrine. Katrine had changed, and all because of Captain Miller. They had been inseparable, with Miller escorting Katrine home and staying over. He never slept in their barracks. That was the word that came from the men who did the night shift in front of the other women's homes.
In Paris, Katrine had been happy. She was resourceful, self-reliant, strong and fey at the same time. He had loved that Katrine who sometimes surprised Joseph by kissing him when he walked past her. She had little reserve when it came to expressing her love for him. He'd seen them once in the kitchen standing in each other's arms - she tiny and he of average height, yet still towering over her. And they were kissing. He had felt his own heart weaken at the sight of such devotion and had prayed fervently that God grace him with just such a love.
Yet, during the last ten days that she had been in Captain Miller's company, Katrine was a different woman. He, Lamine, had only recently experienced the good fortune of being in love. Now he could easily see that there could be a different kind of love. Yes, Katrine was in love again. And this time he thought Captain Miller was mostly like some caged animal that kept his aggression under control. This love... Lamine shook his head. Katrine's eyes betrayed her whenever Miller came into view or when someone mentioned his name. Then a dark fire would lurk in her eyes, a fire that merged with a tenderness he had not ever seen before, not even with Joseph. He could swear on ten bibles that she never looked at Joseph Blumenthal that way.
Captain Miller's coal black eyes smouldered most of the time he was with Katrine. Yet Lamine thought that the fire that resided in Miller was also tempered with fear - fear of losing control, of being completely under Katrine's spell. He foresaw nothing but pain again for Katrine.
Now they all waved as the first vehicles began moving slowly down the Rue Saint Agnes. The townsfolk launched into the national anthem, singing until the last vehicle passed them. Finally the square began to empty, the people walking slowly back home to perform their daily tasks, buy bread, fight over wine, make love, have babies, bury the oldest inhabitant.
Life in St. Clair was back to normal.
Katrine stood by the fountain when everyone had gone. She watched the convoy move down Rue Saint Agnes and never took her eyes off them. She watched as they continued down the long road, past the cathedral, past the old munitions building. Like a moving picture, the procession became smaller and smaller as they moved further and further away. Still Katrine looked, unable to take her eyes off them.
Even when they became only a tiny dot on the horizon, she still looked.
5th Infantry Division
10th regiment
Company A
July 31 1944
Dearest Katrine
I have never been one for goodbyes. It seems that every time I say goodbye, something bad happens when I return. But I couldn't leave without at least letting you know that our last meeting meant the world to me, that being with you has meant the world to me.
I gave you something that I knew you treasured very much. It filled me with so much joy to see how you reacted. I knew then that I had done the right thing. I am not that good with art works. I am a military strategist, but learning about your painting gave me a little insight into the work you have done in the Resistance in the preservation of art works.
We are heading to Paris,as you know. You might think, so what about our time together in St. Clair? You might wonder whether my time with you was worth something. Let me assure you it was the best. We did not have a very auspicious start, because I have not before been confronted by a woman as strong and as assertive as you. You are the best thing in my life. We had only ten days, yet I feel I am lost without you. It is not a feeling I am comfortable with, you know?
My life has been dark. I have suffered loss, and so have you. The gods must have decided to throw two such individuals together to share what pain they have. Knowing you, being able to tell you things I have never told a living soul has been and is very liberating, although I must admit that it is a slow journey for me, Katrine. I pray that you will be patient with me. The nature of my work is such that I cannot allow emotions to get in the way of performing my task to the fullest measure, to have so many young men - boys, really - depending on me for their safety, for their lives. On the battlefield I become every general and warrior who has fought for freedom and I must of necessity, put command and duty before any personal considerations.
It is not easy for me to be as open as you are, so ready to share your deepest emotions with me and entrusting me with them. I want to talk to you of things because I know I can entrust them to you. If they come piecemeal, then do not despair because there will be more coming.
My heart, I can tell you now, dearest, is forever tied to you. I am in love with you. I worship you with the man that is in me, and not the young boy in the flush of first love. That is what I want to give you - all of me.
But dearest, there is not a young man or woman in the theatres of this war not aware that love and promises depend on whether a beloved will survive, yet they all go into their relationships with the impetuosity of the very young. I know that wherever I find myself in the heat of battle, thoughts of you will surely keep me going.
Please write to me as often as the bullets, the grenades, anti-aircraft guns and bombs will allow us. I will do the same.
All my love
Captain Charles Anson Miller
Katrine folded the letter neatly and placed it back in its envelope. Then she tied a red ribbon around it and carefully placed it in her dresser drawer. Her cheeks were stained with tears. It was the fourth time she had read the letter and every time she was unable to stop crying.
The first time she had read it, had been in the hour after she had seen the last speck of the US army convoy disappear down the Rue Saint Agnes. She had sat in her comfy chair - the one Charles liked so much when he listened to her recordings - and remained staring at the opposite wall for a long, long time. The room was filled with the echoes of his presence in her home.
Charles loved her. He loved her like she loved him.
I love him
Her heart sang unabated from that very moment. If she had been disappointed that he hadn't said goodbye to her personally, then his words in the letter all but washed away her distress. He took her body and worshipped it, as she had worshipped his. He had kissed every inch of her skin, the tingling of his touch so unrelenting, she thought she'd expire. One night she'd lain there, her eyes closed. He called her name and her eyes flew open. Then he told her that she had fainted briefly because the pleasure had been unbearable. Once it happened to him too, and she had seen him so vulnerable, she knew then that he had given her a precious gift of himself, that she would treasure his vulnerability forever.
Katrine glanced at the mantelpiece then got up and stood in front of the picture of Joseph with his smiling eyes and curly top. She had loved Joseph; she'd believed that there could be no other in her life. They were a unit, a team that raised a beautiful little girl. So much had happened since they'd died. So much. And Joseph seemed to wink at her from the picture.
"You were always such a kind man, Joseph. Kind and just. You believed in fairness and the goodness of men. Charles is such a man. I love him."
It seemed Joseph's mouth curved into a smile she remembered, the indulgent smile of loving anything that Katrine loved.
"My heart asks for nothing more, Joseph, than knowing you are okay with my newfound joy. See? Your smile continues. Once, many years ago, you told me that if anything happened to you, that I should continue with my life and find new happiness because life does not stand still. You would feel awful if I couldn't move forward."
It seemed Joseph nodded. His last words, "Save yourself" as he and Célestine were torn from her, did not hurt so much anymore. In the first months, she couldn't bear to look at their pictures. The pain had remained as constant, throbbing pulses that kept her awake at night. Now they had dimmed, though not gone. Charles assured her the pain was still there but it no longer overpowered her.
"You were always so generous. You would have wanted me to be happy, wouldn't you? Memories of you and Célestine will always, always, be a part of me."
It seemed Joseph nodded again, saying, "Katrine, for the love of God, get on with your life! Charles is the right man who will stay by your side forever."
Her tears were not far from her, but she believed that Joseph had blessed her. Now she could take out the letter whenever she missed Charles too much.
By now they were in Paris, fighting the war there.
On the road to Paris - July 31 1944
"Say, Beanpole, did you see how Captain Miller and that lady fighter couldn't take their eyes off each other?"
Linklater blew some smoke, waiting for Beanpole Compton to answer.
"He goddam near stripped her goddam dress off her in the middle of the goddam town square!"
"They say he slept with her every night. Is that true?"
"He slept in her goddam house, dumbass! Which didn't mean he slept in her bed!" Compton said, feeling he had to defend his boss.
"Have you looked at Mme Katrine du Pléssis?" Linklater asked. "She'd give all them Hollywood actresses a run for their money. Better looking than all of them!"
"What's your point, Link?"
"Who could resist such a beauty in her bedroom?"
"Boy, I'd have liked to be a goddam fly on that goddam wall!" Compton crowed. He laughed so loud that Baxter slapped his helmet.
"Don't let the boss hear you. You know you have a very thin neck!"
"Oh, hell!" Link cried out. "I'd like to see Cappy wring your neck, Compton! You owe him three lives!"
"Knock it off, guys. Leave the man alone," one of the other privates said. "It's his private life you're talking about."
"I guess if you get to be captain, you close like a clam, right?"
"Right. Now leave him alone."
"Say, Eugene, you gonna miss Sandrine? Seems like she took a shine to you!"
"I like her, but war is war, right? You heard the captain!"
"You mean you just gonna forget about her? You like her, man!" Compton kept on.
"We're going to write."
Linklater's words had Compton laugh so loud that heads popped up from the truck behind them.
"Hey, what's up there, guys?" someone asked.
"Link here is gonna write letters to his lady love. Tell him - "
The next moment Compton looked down the barrel of Linklater's rifle.
"One more word from you..."
"Okay! Okay!"
In the second jeep driven by Elsevier, Lieutenant Robert Davis sat next to Captain Miller. Miller had not said a single word since they left St. Clair. It had Davis worried, not that his captain was an overly talkative person anyway. But he knew Miller well. Miller had left something in St. Clair that had him compressing his lips like a clam.
"I'm glad I got to see Brigitte again."
Silence. The convoy moved at a brisk pace, the sun beating down on them. Miller kept looking straight ahead.
"We both acknowledged that we were young and foolish."
Davis spoke softly, knowing how Elsevier's ears could prick to hear anything juicy he might pass on to his comrades. Still there was no reaction from Miller.
"Lovely day, isn't it?"
"A good day to die."
Davis shook his head mentally. Not quite what he expected as a response, but it pretty much told him to shut up and leave Miller alone.
Everyone - their own men as well as Katrine's close friends - knew of the attraction between Katrine and Captain Miller. He'd had to shut up a few of the men who got uncommonly romantic and wanted to see a fairytale with a happy ending.
He really was glad that he had seen Brigitte. He had come through his baptism of fire ever since he knew they'd be coming to St. Clair. He had loved Brigitte once, a long time ago, when they were both young and hot-headed. It was something that tainted his relationship with Lynne the first year he had met her. He'd always believed that he was still in love with Brigitte, and when he met Lynne, told her about the Frenchwoman who had stolen his heart.
But with time and patience on Lynne's part, he gradually began to fall for her. She had cried the day he told her that he loved her, that there was no other woman for him. Now he was glad, because seeing Brigitte again after so many years put what they had in perspective. He could look at Brigitte now and not feel his heart racing, becoming breathless at the sight of her.
All he wanted to do now was love Lynne and the boys 'til the end of his days. When the war was over, he'd go back to university to study engineering design. He was not finished with drawing rockets and supersonic jet planes.
Sighing, he sat back and closed his eyes, his thoughts now on Paris, rejoining the other regiments of their division and hopefully meet General George S. Patton.
He was in no mood to talk since they'd left St. Clair. Davis wanting to strike up a conversation irritated him. He wanted to dwell in his own thoughts for a while and think of Katrine, think of things.
Voices and bright laughter sprang up from the trucks. That didn't deter him much. It was having to respond to questions, delving in other people's issues that he shrank from. Did great generals of history have the same problem? Did they wish they could find a place where they could be alone and ponder on personal things such as family, love, marriage?
Katrine's eyes haunted him. The last time he looked at her he was unable to say goodbye. Those words stuck in his throat, words he associated with loss, with heartache, with unbridled anger. What would happen to them after yet another goodbye from him? Would he die, or would she be lost to him forever through death?
It had always been so easy with his family, with Lucy. Whenever he was home on a weekend pass or a month long vacation, those words slipped carelessly from his tongue, without any conscious thought of what would happen in the hereafter. Now, with Katrine, everything changed and it scared him.
Words that demanded an emotional vocal expression were difficult to utter. It felt like he was laying bare his soul in the presence of an audience. He couldn't tell her what he wanted to tell her, what lay in his heart. So once again he penned his thoughts in a letter.
Katrine touched his deepest being. He had known her only ten days but he knew without a shred of doubt that he would never be whole without her. Separated from her meant something would always be missing, a vacuum created that demanded to be filled with the memories, the presence, the sheer pleasure of physical touching. How would he live without her?
He loved her.
It was as simple as that. How, then, could he go forward from here? Would their love be tested by the war raging around them?
Sighing, he sat back and raised his face to the sun, now almost high for midday, keeping his eyes closed. Davis had tried conversation and he'd rebuffed his second-in-command. He sat up again.
"We're both leaving things behind, Davis. Yours is pretty much wrapped up. Seeing your first love made you realise what treasure you have waiting at home."
"Indeed, Captain." Davis glanced him at, relieved that Miller was talking again. "Seeing Brigitte again was cathartic, I guess. I realise there is nothing left anymore of what was 'us'. I miss Lynne and the boys." There was a short pause. "What about you?"
"Mine...is unfolding, I guess. Katrine has suffered much. Her husband and little girl were killed before they could be transported to the concentration camps."
"She has you now."
Miller looked Davis in the eyes. "I guess that pretty much sums it up."
"I hope everything works out for you, Captain. It will not be easy from here onwards."
"No. We fight in Paris and then go where the Third Army assigns us."
The conversation dried up, both looking straight ahead. Soon they would see the outskirts of the city. Paris beckoned, a Paris with its historical buildings, its winding Seine River, its Arc de Triomphe, its Eiffel Tower, a Paris asking the Allied Powers to deliver it from the devil.
Miller pulled a map from his duffel. The next hour he spent studying the map, using a pen to circle points here and there, identify key areas Allied Intelligence had sent him while in St. Clair. They'd be joining the Fourth Armoured Infantry Division, with aerial assistance and their full arsenal of artillery at their disposal.
Once Paris fell, France would be free.
Boston, Massachusetts - September 1944
Edward Aaron Miller stared at the letter he'd just read. Lucy stood near the fireplace, a squirming Winonah in her arms.
"Well, what does he say?" she asked.
"He found Katrine du Pléssis, but not in Paris as we all thought. Her husband and daughter were killed by the Germans who transported them to a concentration camp."
Lucy gave a little cry of alarm. "Oh, I am so sorry, Edward! It was not what you had anticipated, was it?"
"No. We simply assumed they were together. But she's alone now, living and running a restaurant in a little town called St. Clair. Charlie and his troops liberated that town, Lucy!"
"He's a great warrior. His men trust him."
Edward folded the letter carefully. "I have to tell Professor Armitage about this. He was the one who wanted to take care of Katrine's little girl."
"It must have been so hard on her, to lose her husband and child in that way."
Instead of answering Lucy, Edward opened the letter again and began reading a paragraph.
Katrine is very beautiful! Beautiful and tiny and appealing, like Mama, but unbelievably resourceful, independent, strong and feisty and courageous and determined! It was a real battle of wills between us. She wanted to lead the fight in St. Clair but I told her, "I am the war you called to do the job for you!"
After she acceded to my leadership, well, she's French! I have to keep my wits about me. I fear my wits will be surely tested as I get to know her better. But I am a soldier, you understand? When I leave St. Clair in a few days it will all be over, I'm afraid!
"What do you think, Lucy?" Edward asked. He sat down when his legs became tired.
"He's in love with her," she answered, her eyes wide with astonishment. "He loves Katrine!"
"Yes, that's what I thought too. Katrine must mean the world to him."
"What will happen to them now?"
"That, my dear, only God knows."
END CHAPTER ELEVEN