A War Within (Epic WWI Love Story)

by Katherine Hastings

  Turning it over she examined it. It was a plain envelope with no writing on the outside and some kind of red liquid, perhaps wine, had stained the outside. When she pulled the envelope open and slid out the letter it contained, a photo dropped to the floor. Perhaps this was the photo he had been looking at that day she saw him on the bench. She bent down and turned it over, gasping when she saw her own face staring back at her. How did Auguste get this photo of me? Did he steal it from the house?

  Isabelle set the photo on her lap and unfolded the letter. Her eyes widened as she recognized the handwriting instantly. Tears welled up in her eyes when she stared down at the words scribbled on the worn page. It was from Pierre. It was a letter to her from Pierre. The tears poured down her face as she read the loving words on the page. It talked of his love for her, his apologies for not listening about joining the war and his desire for her to go on and love after his death. When she finished the letter, she pressed it to her chest. Tears blurred her vision as she held up the now worn photo she’d given Pierre when he left for college.

  The door opened, and Auguste walked in, water bucket in hand and a smile on his face.

  “WATER DELIVERY, MY darling!” he exclaimed as he proudly held up his bucket. When he saw her sitting on his bed with tears streaming down her face he set the bucket down and started toward her.

  “Are you all right? What’s wrong?” he asked, but then he froze when he saw what she clutched in her hands. The letter. He swallowed hard and felt his heart plummet to the ground. She’d found the letter.

  “What is this, Auguste?” she asked, her voice cracking.

  Auguste stood frozen. He couldn’t speak.

  “How did you get this, Auguste?” she yelled, waving the photo at him. “Have you had this the whole time? Tell me how you got this! Tell me!” she screamed, her eyes filled with a hurt he never wanted to inflict.

  “Isabelle. I can explain,” Auguste said softly, taking a slow step toward her.

  “Don’t come near me!” she screamed, the anger in her voice cutting straight through his heart. “Tell me!” The tears poured down her face.

  Auguste stopped. He could almost hear his dreams shattering like broken glass. His worst fears were coming true and his life of lies had caught up to him. He had no choice but to tell her the truth right now.

  “Isabelle. Please. I didn’t want to lie to you. This was what I was planning to tell you. I swear. I never wanted to hurt you. I came here to find you and give you the letter. But when I saw you, I fell in love with you and I haven’t been able to find a way to tell you. I’m so sorry you had to find out this way. I’m so sorry.” Auguste fell to his knees.

  “How did you get this letter, Auguste?” The coldness in her voice cut straight through him. Her expression was now hardened though the tears were still falling.

  “It was an accident, Isabelle. A terrible accident. I was sent to France by the Germans as a spy.” He bowed his head in shame as the words rolled off his tongue. Though he couldn’t bear to look at her face, he could feel her tense up and hear the breath trap in her throat. “After fighting with the French, I couldn’t betray them when the time came. I tried to stay but my cover was blown, so I ran. I ended up in German territory, so I slipped on a German uniform in an attempt to blend in as I made my escape. It was dark. So dark, Isabelle. I tried to tell him I wouldn’t hurt him, and that I was an ally. He was so scared, hiding in the woods. He attacked me, and I tried to disarm him. He slipped and landed on my knife.” Her soft sobs ripped apart his soul. He closed his eyes and tried to push through the pain he felt for causing her agony.

  “He asked me to take the letter from his pocket and I swore him a promise I would bring it to you. It took me months to find you. And when I finally did, I couldn’t bear to tell you. I was going to give it to you, though. I swear I was. I was going to fulfill my promise. I’m so sorry, Isabelle. I love you. I never wanted to hurt you. It was an accident. I regret it every day. Please. You have to forgive me. You have to. I love you, Isabelle.” Tears streamed down his face for the first time since he’d vowed not to cry in the orphanage. Terrified to look up, he slowly lifted his eyes. Her face was frozen tight and covered in streaks from the tears he had caused her. When his eyes met hers, he saw in them a hatred and rage he never imagined possible. It was the same look he’d gotten from Jean-Luc... the very one he never wanted to see again. And this time it was etched on the face of the woman he loved. The two people he cared about most in this world looked at him like he was a monster... and he knew now that they were right. He was a monster, undeserving of either of them.

  “Isabelle. Please,” Auguste whimpered, reaching for her hands.

  She stood up with a jerk and stepped away from him. Her icy gaze cut straight through him and sent a chill down his spine.

  “How could you, Auguste? I will never forgive you.” Her voice was cold and cutting.

  “Please. I love you, Isabelle.” Auguste bowed his head and covered his face with his hands.

  “I never want to see you again, Auguste. Never.” Isabelle stepped around him and stormed away. The slamming door made him jump, and he crumpled into a ball on the floor. It was the sound of the life he’d planned with her, closing to him forever.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  ISABELLE RACED FROM the cabin, hot tears burning a steady trail down her face. How could I have been so stupid? How could he have done this to me? Lied to me! He killed Pierre and knew who I was all along! Isabelle thought of Pierre, scared and alone in the woods, and it twisted her stomach into knots. She tore across the field and her foot caught on a clump of dirt, sending her tumbling to her knees. Shocked and exhausted, she slumped down in the grass and let the sobs overtake her. She’d betrayed Pierre and took the man who’d murdered him as a lover. Overwhelmed with guilt and grief, she curled up into a ball. The pain of her loss of Pierre and the loss of her dreams with Auguste, crushed her into the ground. Her body shook as she relived her loss all over again.

  Isabelle made it into the house and spent the afternoon crying in her bed. When she heard the carriage pulling up the drive she sat up, wiping the tears from her face. She pulled a tissue from her vanity and dabbed around her swollen eyes. Not wanting to explain away her tears, she struggled to collect herself before her family came in the door.

  “Isabelle!” She heard her sister shrieking through the house. “Isabelle!”

  “I’ll be right down!” Isabelle called as she checked herself in the mirror, wiping the last of the tears from beneath her eyes.

  She started down the stairs and saw Alexis bouncing excitedly from side to side. Her father stood next to her, beaming.

  “Guess what?” Alexis exclaimed. Giving Isabelle no time to respond, she held out her left hand, where a sizeable sapphire surrounded in diamonds sparkled in the light. “I’m getting married!”

  Isabelle mustered up all her energy to show her excitement. It wasn’t that she wasn’t excited for her sister, but she was so overwhelmed with grief that she was having a hard time finding any other emotions.

  “Alexis! I’m so happy for you!” Isabelle squealed, her face pulled up in a forced smile.

  “Can you believe it, Isabelle? I’m getting married! He asked father for permission and then asked me down at the fountain in front of everyone today! Sissy LeClair was there, and she was just dying with envy! Serves her right for being so stuck up all the time! Apparently, she wanted to marry Theodore, but guess what? He’s going to marry me!” Alexis threw her arms around Isabelle and she danced with her in a circle. Isabelle choked back tears. She wanted to celebrate with her sister, but her heart was broken, and she couldn’t contain it anymore. The sobs started again.

  Alexis pulled back to see the tears streaming down her face.

  “I cried, too!” she said, unaware of Isabelle’s sadness. Isabelle forced another smile, but Alexis then realized her tears weren’t of joy and happiness.

  “Isabelle? Are you all right?” she ask
ed, slipping her arm around her. “What’s wrong?”

  Isabelle tried to fight back the tears, but they just wouldn’t stop.

  “Oh, honey. I’m so sorry. Is this about Pierre? How selfish of me not to realize that this would be hard for you after losing your fiancé. Of course, you are upset. I’m so sorry. Come. Let’s get you upstairs.”

  Grateful Alexis had jumped to her own conclusion she nodded her head and let her sister guide her upstairs. It wasn’t a lie entirely. It was grief over Pierre causing her tears today, but not for the reason Alexis thought. Alexis tucked her into bed and settled down at her side.

  “Isabelle. I’m so sorry you’re hurting.” She stroked Isabelle’s hair, now damp with tears.

  “I’m sorry, Alexis. This is your big day we’ve all been waiting for and I’m absolutely ruining it. I am so sorry.” Isabelle sobbed a little harder.

  “Nonsense. You just go ahead and get it all out. We have all the time in the world to celebrate my wedding. Well, not all the time in the world because it will be happening sooner than later. Will you be all right if I go out of town with the Cosgroves for a few weeks? I’m supposed to leave tomorrow for their other summer home in the south of France, but I can stay if you need me. I’m not leaving you like this.”

  “No, please go. I’ll be fine.”

  “It’s in Cannes and apparently right on the French Riviera. We have wedding planning to do, not to mention the fighting is getting closer and everyone is getting nervous. Did you see the planes flying by yesterday? It’s quite unsettling. Perhaps you should come. I would love to have you at my side.”

  Isabelle shook her head. “Thank you, Alexis. Please, go have fun. I think I need to go stay with Aunt Brigitte for a while. I could use a little distraction and I know I’ll be comfortable there. You go and have fun with Theodore and I’ll be better by the time you get back, then we can celebrate your wedding properly. Could you go tell father I would like to leave for Aunt Brigitte’s as soon as possible? Tomorrow or the following day.”

  Alexis nodded and stood up from the bed. Isabelle felt terrible for ruining her sister’s big day, but she was so overwhelmed with emotions she couldn’t suppress them no matter how hard she tried. She would go to her aunt’s and hopefully Auguste would be gone by the time she returned. He could tell her father anything he wanted, which wouldn’t be any trouble for him since he was so good at lying.

  AUGUSTE STARED AT THE house, trying to will Isabelle to come out and talk to him. He had tried to go after her yesterday, but he had waited too long. By the time he caught up to her she was racing up the stone steps to her house, two at a time. He hoped perhaps when she processed everything he had said that she would be willing to talk to him. It was the second day and Henri and Raulf weren’t here chasing the German who’d murdered Pierre off the property with shotguns, so the fact that she hadn’t told anyone was encouraging. The thought of losing her forever gutted him. He needed her. He’d said it. The words ‘I love you’ had slipped out of his mouth and he had meant them. But the heartfelt admission may have been too late.

  After giving up on seeing her today, he stumbled back to his cabin for the evening. Guilt and grief kept him from eating that night, and he lay in bed counting the panels of wood on the wall. Habit forced him to reach out for the envelope several times to look at her photo. Each time his fingers felt its absence, the memory of the hatred in her eyes flashed through his mind and impaled him with agony.

  The next morning Auguste headed to the stables, secretly hopeful he could see her today and talk to her, to make her understand. Raulf still seemed unaware, so perhaps he still had a chance to convince her.

  “Auguste!” Raulf’s voice echoed through the barn. “We’ve got loose horses! I need help!”

  Auguste turned on his heel and bolted after Raulf. The horses had taken down a fence and headed out back and it took three hours to round them all up. Loose racehorses don’t amble around, and they’d cleared a considerable amount of countryside before giving up the game and following the men home. When the ordeal ended, he returned to the farm exhausted and muddied. Slumping against the fence, Auguste felt his belly grumble its discontent having skipped both dinner and breakfast, and now the loose horses had caused him to miss lunch.

  Raulf approached carrying two heavy buckets of water for the stalls. Jumping forward to help, he took a bucket from Raulf’s hand.

  “Thanks, Auguste,” Raulf said, taking a deep breath. “That one goes in Chantal’s stall.”

  Auguste took the opportunity while talking about Chantal to see if Raulf had any idea when Isabelle would be back out. “Should I get Chantal’s tack cleaned up? Is Isabelle coming out for a ride today?” he asked, trying to seem as nonchalant as possible.

  “Isabelle won’t be here for a while, actually. She left for her aunt’s this morning.”

  Auguste froze, the water spilling out of the bucket with the abruptness of his stop.

  “What?” he asked, unable to hide his shock.

  “Yeah. Her sister got engaged and, apparently, it brought back her grief from the loss of her own fiancé. His name was Pierre. He was killed in the war,” Raulf said, oblivious to Auguste’s shock.

  “When will she be back?” he asked, struggling to steady his voice like he’d been trained.

  “Not for a while I hear. Sounds like she may stay the last of the summer and into fall. So long as the war doesn’t get any closer, that is. I hear rumors we may all have to head south soon if the Germans gain any more ground. People are saying the front fighting is getting closer. Trench warfare just forty miles from here, I’m told. I saw some planes flying the other day and I’m pretty sure I heard bombs the other night. Scary stuff, I tell you. I can’t imagine having to move all these horses. I told Henri maybe we should start sending some south just to be safe, but he won’t hear of it. ‘No one makes me leave my land’ he says. Stubborn old man.” Raulf shook his head.

  Auguste’s head spun. She was gone. He couldn’t wait months to talk to her. A day had been too long. He had to stop her. If he rode fast enough and took a shortcut, he could catch her at the Prairie Auberge, the inn where she normally stayed during her travels to and from her aunt’s house. It was approximately half way and broke up the two-day journey. Dropping the bucket to the ground he ran off toward the barn.

  “Auguste? You all right? Auguste?” Raulf called after him.

  “I’m sorry! I have to go!” he shouted back but didn’t stop. Rushing back to the barn he grabbed his saddle and bridle and whistled for Beau. His faithful horse cantered up from the field and slid to a stop beside him.

  He threw on Beau’s tack and without a word galloped off through the fields. If he was going to catch her today, he would have to cut through the woods and try to intercept her on the road. Beau puffed beneath him as they tore across the lush green pastures and disappeared into the dark woods. He slowed to a trot to allow his horse to catch his breath and to better navigate the treacherous terrain. As they made their way through the woods, Auguste noticed a familiar cabin up ahead. A sharp pang pierced his heart as just days ago he was there, wrapped up in Isabelle’s arms, their bodies and hearts melting into one. How he longed to go back to that day, to feel her touch, taste her skin, kiss her lips. To go back to a time her eyes weren’t filled with hatred and disgust when she looked at him. Desperation to win her back drove him and he kicked Beau in the sides.

  Considering Beau’s age and his body not being built for speed, they didn’t run long before Auguste slowed him down and ambled through the woods as darkness fell. By his calculations, at this pace they would reach the inn late in the night, about four hours from now. With any luck he could be waiting outside when they checked out in the morning for the second stretch of their journey.

  A crack in the woods snapped his head around. Pulling Beau to a halt, he quieted his breathing and listened. Crack. There it was again. Then more cracks and crunching leaves. Footsteps. Definitely human. Slipping off Beau,
he reached for his rifle, cringing when he realized he’d left it in the cabin. With only his trench knife strapped to his ankle, he lowered himself to the ground and crept to cover behind a large tree. The faint sound of men’s voices cut through the crisp, cool air. Their accent was familiar and unmistakable. Germans. Auguste was too close to ride away without being spotted, so he could only hope Beau would sense his need and stand quietly while they passed him by. It was dark, and as long as they didn’t come right through here and his horse held still, they would never see him.

  Slowing his breathing, he looked back to where Beau stood, begging him to freeze with his eyes. The gelding lowered his head, but the rest of his body remained still. Unmistakable whispers of German slang grew louder as the group closed the distance between them. Six, no seven, men he heard. They were less than one hundred feet away now and he closed his eyes, hoping they wouldn’t discover him. If they did, he would need to react quickly. Avoiding a fight made logical sense, but even without a rifle he shouldn’t have much trouble with only seven men if the need arose.

  Another noise captured his attention. A painful grunt, the sounds of a man falling to the ground. The other soldiers laughed, and he heard the downed man struggle to get up.

  “Get up!” he heard one soldier order, his voice filled with disdain. “I said GET UP!”

  The next sound he heard was what sounded like the loud thump of a boot colliding with flesh, and the guttural grunt of the recipient confirmed it. Gasping for air, the man struggled to catch his breath while Auguste remained pressed against the tree safely out of sight.

  “When I get free, I am going to kill you. Slowly,” a man with a French accent snarled.

  “He says he’s going to kill us,” a German soldier who must have spoken French translated to the others, causing the Germans to erupt in laughter.

  “Get free, you say?” the German muttered back in poorly spoken French. “That will be hard when we hang you tomorrow. We get a bottle of wine for every French soldier we bring back to the camp for entertainment. You’re going to be the reason for my warm belly tomorrow night!”