A War Within (Epic WWI Love Story)

by Katherine Hastings

  “To new friends and the return of my girls,” Henri said, lifting his wine. They all raised a glass and clinked them together, and Auguste’s eyes drew hers again. It seemed the harder she tried not to stare at him, the more she did just that. With a slight nod of his head, he pulled back his glass and pressed it to his lips.

  Isabelle did the same and breathed out a sigh of relief when she managed to sip her wine without incident. He’s just a man, Isabelle, get yourself together. He’s just a stable hand, like Raulf. You’ve had dinner with Raulf hundreds of times without incident.

  But with a quick glance over to the handsome face enjoying Haddie’s cooking, Isabelle’s attempts at pretending Auguste was Raulf fell apart. That was certainly not Raulf sitting at the table, and as hard as she tried to fight his effect on her, it was an effort unrewarded with results.

  “How long have you been here, Auguste?” Alexis asked.

  “I arrived a few months ago; I think it was March. Your father was kind enough to take me on.”

  March. That was when she’d seen him on the bench across the street from her aunt’s. He must have come straight here. What were the chances he’d traveled from her aunt’s house to her home? It’s as if fate gave him a push, straight into my life. She mulled that over while she tried to keep herself from staring at him.

  “Kind enough?” Henri snorted. “Auguste here is strong enough to do the work of three stable hands! It’s me who’s benefitting the most from his arrival. He’s been a wonderful addition.”

  “Thank you, Henri. I’m glad you don’t regret hiring me.”

  “I’m glad you had a little more company while we were gone. Papa, you must have been so lonely without us this winter, just sitting here all alone every night in this big house,” Alexis said.

  Isabelle caught a look exchanged between her father and Auguste and furrowed her brow at the secret they seemed to share between them.

  “Yes,” Henri answered, then cleared his throat. “Many lonely nights sitting in the parlor. But enough about me. How was life in the city?”

  “Loved it,” Alexis answered. “Parties, shopping, plenty of suitors, luncheons. What’s not to love?”

  “This one here has a love for the finer things,” Henri said to Auguste and gestured to Alexis. “That one just wants to gallop around on her horse all day. Perhaps she’ll take over my breeding and racing business.”

  Isabelle nodded. “I certainly hope to someday.” It was a short sentence, but she was glad she’d just said something coherent.

  “Auguste, that mare you love so much, Chantal, is Isabelle’s horse. I bred her special for Isabelle five years ago. She may be a fiery thing, but so is my daughter, so they get along quite well.” Pride filled his eyes.

  Auguste turned toward her, and their eyes locked together. “I love the fire inside her. She’s beautiful,” he stated simply.

  It wasn’t the words that got her heart pounding and the heat racing back through her body. It was how he said it and the meaning his eyes seemed to portray.

  Does he mean me? No, he’s talking about my horse. But is he? Those hypnotic eyes remained fixed on hers and she felt her senses fluttering out the door.

  “Yes, she is,” she managed to say, though the words stuck on her tongue. Needing a sip of water, she set down her fork. It missed her plate and bounced off the table, landing on the floor by her feet.

  Mortified again, she leaned down to grab it, but her fingers grazed Auguste’s hand instead. Her eyes shot up, meeting his gaze, while he plucked the fork from the rug. Slowly they rose back up, their eyes held together while he settled back into his seat and extended his hand, offering her the fork.

  “Here,” he said, and she took it.

  “Thank you,” was all she could say, humiliated once again at her sudden loss of motor skills.

  “Good grief, Isabelle! Are you sure you’re all right?” Alexis asked.

  No. She was not all right. After a lifetime of speaking to men, being pursued by men, and even being engaged to a man, for the first time in her life she was incapable of being in the presence of one without completely coming undone. She felt like an imbecile and it was a strange feeling for someone normally composed and well-spoken.

  “Actually, I’m not feeling well. If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll go lay down.” Between being a mute when she’d seen him at the carriage and her abysmal behavior tonight, she’d had enough embarrassment for one day.

  Henri and Auguste rose when she stood up.

  “I do hope you feel better, darling,” Henri said.

  “Me, too, Isabelle,” Alexis said. “I’ll come check on you later. I hope you’re not running a fever. Should I call for the doctor?”

  She was running a fever all right, but it wasn’t caused by illness. One more look at Auguste and the temperature in her body rose to boiling.

  “I’m fine. Just tired. Please don’t call the doctor. I just need rest,” she said. The last thing she needed was a doctor coming to examine her. How could she explain it was just a case of infatuation causing her bizarre symptoms?

  “Okay, darling. But you just holler if you change your mind. We’ll come check on you in a bit.”

  “Goodnight, everyone,” she said.

  “Good night, Isabelle,” Auguste said, and the husky tone of his voice sent a shiver snaking up her spine. “Feel better.”

  “Thank you,” she said, and she gave him one last look before carefully making her way out of the room to go hide underneath her covers and pretend this mortifying day never happened.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  THE NEXT MORNING, SHE woke up in her old familiar bed and took a deep breath and smiled. Snuggling deeper into the sheets, she decided to lay there and enjoy her own bed for just a few minutes longer. Then the memories of last night crashed back and she cringed, disappearing back underneath the blankets. Never in her life had she behaved that way in front of a man. She had no explanation for it, but she wished she could go back and erase every mortifying second she’d spent with him. Or at least redo them so he could see she wasn’t, in fact, dimwitted.

  Rolling over onto her side, she gazed out the window, wondering if Auguste was out there. Who is he? Where did he come from? What are the chances the man from the bench is working at my father’s farm? Her mind reeled with questions and she knew she had to find out more about him.

  Isabelle got up and quickly dressed. Since she was back at her farm, for the first time in months she wouldn’t need to dress from head to toe in the finest fashions just to walk out the door. Since she rarely dressed up on the farm or for her trips to their small town, she didn’t even keep a lady’s maid on staff like she had at Aunt Brigitte’s and dressed herself on most occasions. Just as she was about to pull on a plain riding habit, she remembered the statuesque man who would be working around the estate today. Even though she tried to convince herself it wasn’t for his benefit, she pulled out the dress everyone had complimented her on during her last visit at her aunt’s. It was more formal than she’d ever worn around the farm, but there was no sense in letting it go to waste. After she fixed her hair she headed down the stairs to the dining room.

  “Good morning, darling,” her father chimed when he saw her. “Are you feeling better?”

  “Yes, I’m fine.” The question sent her mind reliving those horrifying moments again and she tried to keep her internal cringe from appearing on her face.

  “I’m so glad. We were worried about you. You certainly don’t look sick! I must say you look extra lovely today.”

  “My goodness, Isabelle, you do look lovely! Did you forget we’re no longer in the city?” Alexis teased.

  Isabelle shot her a dirty look and grabbed some fruit and cheese from the tray on the table.

  “I assume you’ll want to ride Chantal today? I asked Auguste to bring her in and clean her up for you,” Henri said, smiling.

  Just hearing his name caused her heart to flutter, and she dropped a piece of fruit f
rom her hand.

  “Thank you, Papa. I’m heading out there right now,” she said as she picked up the fruit, hoping he hadn’t noticed her reaction to Auguste’s name and cursing herself for having it. He’s just a man, she told herself. Stop acting like a schoolgirl. Get yourself together.

  “Are you going to change? How on earth are you going to ride in that dress?”

  “I managed riding astride in dresses just fine for years before you stopped trying to force me to ride sidesaddle. I’ll be fine,” she argued, but her confidence faltered that her appearance hadn’t gone unnoticed.

  “Very well,” he answered, but raked her with a wary gaze.

  Now that it garnered so much attention, she regretted wearing the beautiful dress instead of her normal habit and devantiere dresses that had discreet slits up the back and allowed her to ride astride without all this fuss. The battle she fought to stop riding sidesaddle was won just last year when her father gave in and got her a custom saddle and dresses made for riding astride. Before he’d given in, she’d snuck out often in her regular dresses and managed to ride astride without issue. Riding in trousers was still a battle she hadn’t won, but she whittled him down a little more every day.

  Knowing she could manage the ride just fine and not wanting to draw any more attention to her unusual appearance, she hurried out of the room and headed toward the barn. When she walked outside, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath of the fresh air. She’d missed this place. With her lungs filled with the sweet, country air, she continued toward the barn and then paused when an overwhelming panic crept over her. Suddenly, she didn’t know what she would say when she saw Auguste. Biting her lip, she looked at the barn and then back at the house. Deciding she wasn’t ready to see him after her embarrassing showing, she spun back toward the safety of her home. After taking a few steps she stopped again, taking a deep breath and reminding herself she would need to see him eventually, so she spun back before repeating the process several more times. Realizing how uncharacteristically ridiculous she was behaving, she dug deep into her resolve and marched off toward the barn muttering out loud, a nervous habit she got from her mother, while she gave herself a pep talk.

  AUGUSTE STOOD IN THE stall, holding a pitchfork and looking outside when he saw Isabelle emerge from the house. Just the sight of her caused his heart to race, and he nearly dropped his pitchfork. The elegant gown she wore only accentuated the beauty that radiated from within. Knowing she was heading his way, he wiped the sweat from his brow and plucked the pieces of straw from his stained work shirt, swiping at it to smooth it out as best he could.

  As he watched her approach the barn, he furrowed his brow when she suddenly paused. After standing there for a moment she turned around and his heart sank when he realized he wasn’t going to see her after all. But as fast as she had turned around, she turned back and headed toward the barn and his spirits lifted once again. Just when he was certain she’d be coming in, she stopped again and repeated her circle multiple times before finally making her way into the barn. Chuckling to himself, he watched the odd, beautiful creature who appeared to be muttering to herself as she headed his way.

  While she walked through the barn, he could see her clearly, but the shadows kept him hidden. Her cautious eyes darted around the barn like she searched for something. She continued along until she arrived at the opening of the stall where he stood holding the pitchfork.

  “Good morning,” he said.

  She jumped and then closed her eyes and grasped her chest. “You startled me!”

  Smiling, he watched her fight to regain her composure. Is she always so jumpy? Between yesterday and now she certainly seemed like a skittish thing. But beautiful and intriguing, nonetheless.

  “Good morning to you,” she said curtly, spinning away and hurrying down the barn aisle.

  While he watched her walk away, he couldn’t help but notice the way her hips swung as she moved down the aisle. Everything about this woman set him on fire.

  “Good morning, Isabelle,” Auguste heard Raulf’s voice echoing down the quiet barn aisle. “Wow! Don’t you look fancy today.”

  She glanced over her shoulder at Auguste and he saw a pink flush creep into her cheeks.

  “It’s just something I picked up in the city. It’s so wonderful to see you again, Raulf.” She pulled him in for a warm hug. “Have you taken good care of my Chantal while I was away?”

  “Actually, Auguste over there has been keeping her groomed and exercised. I do believe he’s quite fond of her,” Raulf said, gesturing down the aisle to Auguste.

  She glanced over her shoulder at him. Realizing he was being inappropriate, intruding on a private conversation, he looked away and resumed mucking the stall.

  “Is that so? Well I can’t wait to see her. Papa kept us so busy recanting tales from our time apart I only saw her for a few minutes in the pasture yesterday. Could you bring her to me?”

  Raulf emerged moments later with Chantal. Auguste watched between the bars of the stall while pretending to keep mucking. Isabelle’s hands ran down the face of her beloved horse, then she pressed her cheek against the big white star on the mare’s forehead and closed her eyes. Auguste watched her in awe and caught himself yearning to exchange places with the beautiful horse. His body stiffened as he fantasized about Isabelle’s elegant fingers stroking his skin instead.

  “Can you saddle her up, please? I’d love to go for a ride,” Isabelle said as she continued caressing her way down the horse’s smooth black coat.

  Raulf tacked up Chantal as Auguste finished mucking out the stall. Pushing his wheelbarrow down the aisle, he went outside to see Isabelle mounting the fiery black horse. The mare spun with excitement as Auguste passed by and Isabelle glanced down at him before stopping her struggle and letting the mare loose into a gallop down the dirt path past his cabin. Auguste put the wheelbarrow down and watched them disappear over the hill. She looked incredible flying across the fields on the back of the sleek mare.

  “I must say, it’s never taken you fifteen minutes to muck out one stall before.” Auguste spun to see Raulf leaning against the doorway, wearing a knowing smirk. “A bit distracted?”

  “Just a particularly messy day, I guess,” Auguste lied and picked up the handles of the wheelbarrow, pushing it away.

  “Likely story,” Raulf called after him, and Auguste cringed against the accurate accusation.

  Auguste was in the hay room when Isabelle returned. Damn, he’d missed her again. Finishing the last of his chores, he headed back to his cabin in the woods. Stopping to pick up some firewood from the pile, he went inside to start a fire. Once it was roaring, he slipped off his dirty clothes and fell back into bed. His muscles were sore from a long day of work and his warm bed cradled him like a welcome friend. When he closed his eyes, for the second night in a row, his dreams weren’t of death and blood. They were of a woman so beautiful he still wondered if she was real.

  Suddenly, as if a slap had crossed his face, his eyes shot open when he remembered the reason he was here. The letter. The letter from the boy he’d killed in the woods. The letter from... her fiancé. His heart sank. He’d made a promise to a dying boy to deliver the letter to her. But, even though it had been a tragic accident, how could he admit to killing her fiancé? She would never forgive him. He would be thrown off the farm and never see her again.

  His honor told him he must fulfill his promise to the boy but his growing desire for Isabelle clouded his conscience. Auguste reached under his mattress and pulled out her photo for the hundredth time. It was becoming worn from the number of times he’d run his fingers across her face.

  “Isabelle,” he said as he closed his eyes, and clutching the photo to his chest, his heart sank deeper into total darkness.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  ISABELLE AWOKE TO HER father’s unmistakable laughter booming through the house. Just the sound of it made her smile. Chirping birds drew her sleepy eyes over to the window and she found
another sunny morning awaited her. It looked like the perfect day for a ride.

  But thinking of riding made her think of Auguste, who would be in the barn. There was no way she could endure another episode of embarrassing herself. Memories of her awkward behavior in front of him flooded her with humiliation. When she’d seen him standing in that stall yesterday, she had no doubt in her mind he’d seen her circling around the yard, and he’d definitely heard her talking to herself. Between being a mute, that unfortunate dinner, and her erratic behavior yesterday, he likely thought her dimwitted, and she considered herself anything but.

  Knowing she couldn’t avoid him forever if she wanted to see her horse again, she decided today was the day she would show him who she really was. The shy, awkward girl that had recently possessed her body was no longer welcome. With a newfound determination, she got dressed, concluding today she would impress him with her wit and smarts.

  Isabelle marched downstairs with purpose. When her father’s laugh grew closer, she heard the laughter of another man with him in the parlor. Stopping abruptly, she ducked back around the corner and flattened her back against the wall. Is it Auguste? I’m not ready yet! Taking a moment to assess her reaction, she realized hiding around corners like a startled young girl was not the way to start her new habit of putting her best foot forward.

  Straightening her dress, she lifted her chin and marched with confidence into the parlor. Inside sat her father, her sister and her father’s best friend, Albert Moreau. She took a deep breath when she realized the voice she’d heard was not Auguste but her father’s oldest friend.

  “Monsieur Moreau!” she exclaimed when she met his old, grey eyes.

  “Ah! Isabelle! How lovely to see you! You get more beautiful by the day! And please, call me Albert.”