Fields of Gold Beneath Prairie Skies Page 2

“I can carry it for you if it’s too heavy,” he said, trailing behind her.

  Lea glanced back over her shoulder. “It’s okay, monsieur. I thank you for your kindness, but it’s not that heavy.”

  She descended the stairs of the train and gazed about at the destruction—the crumpled buildings, the broken roads—until she spied what appeared to be a semblance of normalcy, a dock still intact, a ferry that seemed operational. She walked toward it, uncertain. When she got closer, confusion gripped her, and she swung about. Was this the right place? She’d never been too far from home before except to help fallen soldiers on the field after a battle. She shook away the memories of injured men with opened wounds and bloodied heads. Someone tapped her on the shoulder. It was the man from the train.

  “Madame, let me help you, please. You look lost, and I speak the language here.”

  Lea gave another look about, then gave in. “All right.”

  “Where is it you want to go?”

  “I need to catch the ferry to Dover.”

  “It’s over there.” He pointed to another dock.

  They walked in silence for a spell.

  “What are you going to do in Dover?” he finally asked.

  “I’m going to Canada…to get married,” she said, her words intended to keep the man in his place.

  “Ah, another furlough bride then?”

  “Well, not exactly. Perhaps more of a post-war bride.”

  “And a beautiful bride you’ll make.” He gave her arm a flirtatious squeeze.

  Lea feigned ignorance of the gesture.

  Together they walked to the station where he ordered her ticket in Flemish. She handed the money to the agent behind the counter, then turned, and thanked the man.

  He accompanied her to the gangplank, then tipped his hat, wishing her luck in her new life before stepping away.

  “Thank you,” Lea called out, half-relieved, yet slightly disappointed he was leaving. It’d been fun to have a gentleman pay attention to her once she realized he had no ill intentions.

  For a moment she questioned her decision to leave Belgium. After all, there were still other men left that one could marry. Hadn’t this gentleman just proven that? And how well did she know her little Napoleon? She shook her head. No, she’d made her promise, and the money had been sent for her. She had to go through with it. If only Mathilde had been there. Perhaps this man would have been a match for her.

  By the time she boarded the ferry to Dover, Lea’s stomach rumbled. She’d run out of the bread and cheese Maman had packed for her. Carrying her suitcase, she made her way to the small cafeteria on the ferry and ordered tomato soup—small fare for the hunger that consumed her, but with the few bills she possessed, her money had to last all the way across the Atlantic Ocean and to the city named Regina where she’d meet her husband-to-be.

  “Regina,” she whispered, recalling it had been named after Queen Victoria. A new city, a new province. Far from all the madness.

  She sipped on the salty soup, and chewed the hard, crusty bread that accompanied it. Thinking of the man who’d helped her, her mind drifted back to the days that followed the soldiers’ stay.

  “I’ve never been so itchy in my whole life!” Mathilde had cried, scratching her armpits.

  “Did you eat mussels again?” asked Palma.

  “No, this is different,” said Mathilde. “These are more like bug bites. And besides, Lea has it too.”

  “You do?” asked Palma.

  “Yes, and it’s driving me crazy!” Lea clawed at herself.

  “Let’s see,” said Palma. She undid the buttons of Lea’s dress and searched.

  “What do you see?” asked Lea.

  Palma let out a scream. “Ugh! You’ve got body lice.”

  “Body lice?” exclaimed Lea.

  The three girls shrieked.

  “What do we do?” asked Lea, jumping about as she ripped off her clothes. “It’s so repulsive!”

  Lea heard Maman’s feet hurrying up the stairs to where the girls danced about in a frenzy.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked, her eyes wide.

  “They have body lice!” said Palma. “It must have been those soldiers.”

  “Body lice? But didn’t you wash the sheets after they left?”

  Lea and Mathilde shared a guilty look. “No,” they both said at once.

  “Then no wonder you have lice.” Maman shook her head and tsked. “Those poor men. The conditions they have to live under.”

  “What’ll we do?” asked Lea. “I can’t stand this a moment longer.”

  “It’s easy,” said Maman. “We’ll have to remove all the bedding and find the clothes you’ve worn since they stayed. Then we have to wash them all with boiling water, and iron them.”

  “But that’s so much work,” protested Mathilde.

  “Well, you do want to be rid of them, don’t you?”

  The girls nodded.

  “Then get started right away.”

  They worked all day, washing the sheets, blankets, and all their garments by hand, then hanging them outside. It was near nightfall when they deemed the laundry dry enough to take in. They heated the iron on the wood stove and passed it over the clothes and sheets, small pops and crackles sounding as any surviving louse died an unmerciful death. By midnight they were done.

  Lea and Mathilde flopped into their bed, exhausted. Mathilde’s breathing became regular as she fell asleep, but Lea remained awake, her mind drifting back to the small soldier with the kind brown eyes. She smiled. He’d had such a gentleness about him, a charming sense of humour; yet such pride. She hoped she’d see him again.

  A few days later, they heard a timid knock.

  It was Palma who answered, swinging the door open with an imperious swoop.

  The two soldiers wore sheepish grins as though they’d been caught doing something wrong.

  “So, you’re back,” Palma said, a decisive tone in her voice.

  The soldiers shared an uncertain look.

  Napoleon stepped forward. “We wanted to come and thank you for your hospitality last week. It was very appreciated.”

  “Appreciated! Well, we didn’t appreciate—”

  “Palma, where are your manners?” She yanked her sister’s arm. “Let these men in. They’re probably dying of thirst.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “No buts. We must do all we can.”

  As the men entered, Lea’s heart flip-flopped. Napoleon was more handsome than she remembered. “May I prepare you a cup of tea and some pastries?”

  Napoleon’s face shone with gratitude. “Yes, that would be nice.” His eyes roved up and down her form, seemingly pleased with what he saw.

  Lea hurried to the kitchen and put the kettle on. It seemed to take forever for the water to boil. When she came back with the tea and galettes, Maman stood in the center of the room, her arms crossed, a frown on her face, obviously in the middle of a serious conversation.

  “How dreadful! To have to live with lice like that,” she said.

  “Yes, well what else can we do?” asked Jacques. “They’re everywhere.”

  “Let us help you. If you can strip down, we can at least iron your uniforms to kill what’s there.”

  Napoleon reddened.

  “Here.” Palma reached into the closet and pulled out two thick blankets. “You can put these on while we kill the little monsters.”

  The two men were ushered into the back room. When they came out a few minutes later, they were wrapped in the covers, their uniforms in their hands. Lea and Palma took each piece of clothing and thoroughly ironed it, the lice sizzling as they worked.

  When the men were once again dressed and fed, Napoleon eyed Lea, then addressed Papa. “Sir, if I could have a word with you.”

  Papa broke into a small, knowing smile and followed him to the door.

  Lea and Mathilde listened as closely as they could, catching a word here and there.

  “…your daughter…calli
ng…”

  “I think he’s asking for permission to court you,” said Mathilde, her voice a high whisper.

  “I hope so.” Lea, moved closer to hear more. When she saw Papa reach out a hand and pat Napoleon on the shoulder, she knew they had reached an agreement.

  Papa returned wearing a wide grin. “Seems you’ve picked yourself up a beau, Lea.”

  Lea’s heart leapt. All the itching and scratching had been well worth it.

  Chapter Three

  The Ferry

  After Lea swallowed the last sip of her soup, she settled herself on the main deck, finding a seat as near to the window as possible. Tucking her suitcase under her legs, she glanced about to see how crowded the ferry was. If there weren’t too many people, she might have the entire row of seats to herself, a safeguard from lonely men looking for company. She relaxed when an old woman made herself comfortable beside her.

  As they sailed away, the land behind them diminished, the greens fading to misty pale blues that disappeared into the haze. She watched the faint line grow thinner until water surrounded the vessel, lapping against the hull, only gray sky visible beyond. Lea’s pulse quickened as she remembered her mother’s worries. Could there still be U-boats left that haven’t heard the Armistice has been signed? No! Nap said it’s official—the war’s over, and if he says so, then I believe him. To convince herself of his words, she pulled out the stack of letters from her bag that he’d sent over the past year and filed through them until she found the one she was looking for.

  My dearest Lea,

  I’m sorry I haven’t been by to see you for some time. You see, I wasn’t given leave, though we’ve been stationed close to Chatlineau a few times. We’ve been transporting POWs back to Germany from France and Belgium now that the armistice has been signed. You’d think it’d be easy work, but it’s not. It’s quite sad, really. These men are so thin and broken, and I worry, even though they’re the enemy, that they may not survive. My comrades say I shouldn’t concern myself after all the atrocities the Germans have committed, but aren’t all men equal? Weren’t they serving their country the same as we were? Don’t they have mothers and fathers who love them too?

  Yesterday, I spoke to a German who told me, in broken French, that he had a wife and a four-year-old daughter waiting for him back home. I wonder if they’ll find him changed, the way his hands tremble and the way he starts at the slightest sound. He’s a haunted man. We weren’t the only ones hurt. It’s a terrible thing war, where decent men are forced to kill each other because of decisions made by political leaders.

  One of our boys told me a touching story the other day. He said that one Christmas, the Allies near Vimy Ridge heard the Germans singing ‘Silent Night’. They were so moved, they joined in. Can you imagine? Germans and Allies singing together, each in their own language? Then a magical thing happened. Slowly, they all came out of the trenches, shook hands, showed pictures of their girls. Some even cried together. Others shared what small portions of food they’d received from back home. Then someone pulled out a ball, and they began playing soccer. Can you imagine? Soccer! But it all ended when they heard gunshot in the distance. Their brief Christmas was over. It was business as usual. They shook hands and then lowered themselves back down into the muck of the trenches and resumed shooting. My eyes fill with tears at the thought. What a terrible thing to befriend and kill your enemy on the same day.

  But there is one good thing that has come from this war, my beautiful Lea, and that’s you. As I sat in the mud-filled, rat-infested trenches before the armistice, it was you who kept me going. I could survive the cold and damp, the trench foot, and the lack of food just by filling my mind with thoughts of you, your beautiful blue eyes, your dark hair, your charming accent. It gave me something to hope for—a future.

  As always, I love you,

  Nap

  Lea let out a sigh. Her little Napoleon! She never grew tired of reading his letters! At first his correspondence had related the latest news, but as they got to know one another—be it live or through mail—he began leaving small hints, choice words that indicated they might have a life together! The day came when Lea received a short note saying he’d drop by that night, that he had something important on his mind to discuss with her.

  “I think this is it,” Lea had said to Mathilde in an excited whisper.

  “What?” asked Mathilde, folding dried bed sheets, still checking for the telltale signs of lice—a slight blood stain—though many months had passed since the soldiers had spent the night.

  “Napoleon is coming—tonight!”

  “Tonight?”

  “Yes, and I think he may ask me to marry him!”

  Her sister’s mouth dropped. “Marry him! You can’t be serious. You barely know him! He’s only been here a few times to see you.”

  “Yes, but we’ve been writing back and forth. I know him well enough. He’s the kindest man I’ve ever met. He’s funny, he’s sweet, and besides, I would like to see these golden fields and blue skies he talks about.”

  “But you don’t know what’ll happen between now and then. You could be a widow with a baby.”

  Lea mulled her words over. It was true. She’d known three of the town’s girls who’d been furlough brides only to lose their husbands a few months later on the front.

  “You can’t rush into these things,” said Mathilde. “And what if you marry him and then don’t fit into his world. Remember, you’re Belgian. And he’s asking you to move to Canada, an untamed country.”

  Lea weighed the consequences of her decision, then replied. “Yes, but I love him.”

  “But Lea…” Mathilde dug her hands into her hips and gave her a condescending look.

  A timid knock at the front door brought an abrupt end to the conversation.

  “It can’t be him already!” whispered Lea. She pinched her cheeks and bit her lips.

  Her sister did a quick fold of the sheets and shoved them into the cupboard while Lea smoothed out her dress. Papa opened the door.

  Napoleon stood on the steps in full uniform, his chest pushed out. He reached up, took off his hat and smiled. “Good day, Monsieur Decorte.”

  Papa turned and shot Lea an amused hint of smile. “Lea. Are you in the mood for Mr. de Montigny’s company? Or are you too tired today?” Without waiting for an answer, he said, “I think she’s too tired.” He made as if to close the door.

  Lea rushed forward before her beau had time to flee from Papa’s wry sense of humour. “Of course I have time for Napoleon. Come in, come in.” She grabbed his arm and dragged him to the sofa where they sat side by side holding hands.

  Napoleon looked uncertain.

  No wonder! After what Papa just put him through.

  They made small talk until dinner was served. When they sat down to eat, he barely touched the fish and potatoes Maman had prepared, wiping his forehead over and over again with his napkin and taking sips of water as though his mouth were dry.

  When the dishes were washed and placed in the cupboard, Lea led him to the sofa again while everyone conveniently disappeared except Papa who made an occasional entrance to cast a wary eye on the couple.

  “So the war is over now and as soon as we’re done transporting the POWs, I’ll likely be discharged,” Napoleon said after the older man left the room for the second time.

  “Oh?” said Lea.

  Nap cleared his throat. “Yes, and then I’ll be going home to Canada. I’ll join my father and brothers in Saskatchewan.”

  Lea moved closer, hoping for an arm to encircle her. “I’ll miss you.”

  “As I will you.” He slid his hand over her shoulder only to remove it again when Maman wandered in and began polishing the silverware.

  Lea flashed her an impatient glare, but Maman ignored it and continued rubbing the cutlery until every individual piece shone before leaving.

  “Tell me more about Saskatchewan. Have you applied to the government for your homestead yet?” She lo
ved pronouncing the English word. It seemed so worldly.

  “No, not yet. I’ll do that when I get home.” Napoleon’s face paled. “But I…I…I was wondering if…”

  “Yes?”

  Papa sauntered in and began sweeping the floor.

  Napoleon let out a frustrated sigh and then changed the subject. “We’ve been lucky with the weather, haven’t we?”

  “Yes, indeed,” replied Lea, throwing an angry look at her father.

  Papa pushed crumbs into the dustpan and poured it into the trashcan, oblivious.

  “It’d be nice to go for a picnic,” suggested Lea.

  “Ah, yes, it would. We could pick up a baguette from the boulangerie, then take it to the park.”

  “That would be lovely.”

  The grandfather clock that stood in the corner of the room chimed. Ten o’clock.

  “And we could get some fromage bleu too,” she added. It was getting late. If Maman and Papa didn’t leave them alone, Nap would never propose.

  Papa cleared his throat and eyed Lea.

  Lea hurled him a desperate glare, the effect obviously not working because he dragged a chair to the grandfather clock and began winding it.

  On seeing his actions, Napoleon took in a sharp breath and stood up. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize it was so late. I should be going.”

  Lea’s heart fell. Her lips pressed together in a tight line as she walked Napoleon to the door.

  He squeezed her shoulders, and cast a glance toward Papa, before saying, “I’ll be back as soon as I can. Maybe in a couple of weeks.” He kissed her cheek, then retreated into the night.

  Chapter Four

  England

  Lea spied the pale escarpment in the distance and nearly bolted from her seat. The Cliffs of Dover! It was true. They really were white, just as Napoleon had described! She grabbed her suitcase and hurried to the deck. A strong wind tossed her hair about and whipped her clothing. The smell of the sea filled her nostrils. If only she had a camera so she could take photos to send home.

  The precipice loomed high above the horizon as they approached. Lea watched in awe, rehearsing the English words she’d practiced for when they landed. She was actually in Dover. Dover! No one in her family had ever been here.