Lies Told In Silence (23 page)

“My fifteen-year-old brother is interested in science. Are you interested in science?” Jean nodded. “Well, this story is about something called triangulation. A way to pinpoint enemy locations through sound.”

Jean looked puzzled, and Helene rapidly translated the word
triangulation
.

Using simple words, Edward explained that before battle it was important to map enemy positions accurately and that one method involved positioning microphones in a triangle in no man’s land. At the mention of no man’s land, Lise took a sharp inward breath.

“Twelve of us went out in the pitch-black of night, making our way forward in the tunnels and trenches until we got to the forward lines. We moved slowly because the passageways are narrow and they zigzag. Each of us carried a lot of equipment on our backs.”

“How much weight?” asked Jean.

“About fifty pounds.”

“
Mon Dieu! Cinquante livres de pois.
”

“Jean, let Monsieur continue,”
said Lise.

“We had to walk slowly, one step at a time. The trenches can be slippery.” Edward’s careful choice of words reassured Lise. “It took about an hour to reach our destination, where a support team waited with ladders and extra gear. We blackened our faces so the Germans would not see us and checked our packs, working in silence so the enemy would not hear us. Then we climbed the ladders and fanned out in teams of two, creeping through the mud from shell hole to shell hole, counting paces, checking our compasses. Placement of the microphones has to be very accurate.”

Jean’s mouth was open. Lise knew he was imagining the tension and danger of a dark night near enemy lines.

“When my partner and I reached our spot, we took off our packs and laid out our equipment then we dug the microphones into position and secured them in the ground. And finally, we hooked a spool of wire to the microphone and unwound it as we returned to the trench.”

“And then you were safe?”

“No. Then we got another pack and did it all over again with a second microphone.”

“Did anyone get hurt?” Jean asked.

Lise held her breath, wondering what Edward would disclose.

“Actually, one of our men was shot when he was in no man’s land. We got him back to the medics, though.”

After dinner, Lise permitted Helene to walk with Edward as far as Monsieur Garnier’s. She knew they would embrace as soon as they were out of sight of the house, but Edward’s conduct had been exemplary, and he would return to the front the following day. It seemed the least she could do for this soldier who was fighting for France.

She could tell he was damaged by his experiences. At the hospital in Beaufort, and on the two occasions she nursed Guy, she learned that fear lingered in a soldier’s eyes, that souls deaden with what these men lived with every day. Edward’s eyes looked sad and fearfully empty . . . except when he looked at her daughter.

Chapter 30

October 1917

My darling wife,

I was surprised to hear that Helene has a young man. Of course, in normal times she would already have had gentlemen calling on her. However, these are not normal times, and this news has unsettled me. It is particularly worrisome that she has seen him alone and that he is a foreigner. I ask you to remember when we were first courting; your Maman was most diligent about having you chaperoned even when we took a stroll in the public gardens. My own emotions at that time were difficult to keep under control, so I can imagine the feelings of this young man, no doubt a hotheaded soldier. It would be best for you to find some way for Helene to break things off with him.

Your mention of Jean saddens me, as I know that it is my responsibility to give him the male guidance so necessary at this time in his life. I will renew my efforts to bring you back to Paris and reunite us as a family.

Give the children my love,

Henri

* * *

Dear Helene,

Forgive me for not writing earlier, but we’ve had a troubling week. Advances followed by retreats as the Germans continue to pound our positions. I alternate between hope and dismay. Brewster was killed yesterday running a message forward. I saw him fall, but German mortars were so intense I could do nothing to save him. We buried him this morning. He was only nineteen but nevertheless very brave.

I’m sorry to be so gloomy. Captain Earnshaw has said that we will rotate out for a week of rest some time tomorrow. All I want is a bath and hot food. There’s a town about ten miles back, and I know Eric will persuade me to walk there for a night of drinking. I would rather be with you, but we are too far from Beaufort for me to visit.

I received your package last Wednesday and now carry your picture in my pocket so I can look at your beautiful face whenever I want. The cigarettes are a special treat. Please thank your mother for being so considerate.

My mother has written with news about the family. My two youngest brothers have been very sick with the measles. She says they are now on the mend, and I suppose since she wrote that letter in late July they are likely running wild again. She enclosed two pairs of socks so I have something clean to wear.

The captain says there’s hope for a breakthrough since both the British and French are having some success, and I have heard that the Americans are beginning to make a difference. I’ve enclosed a picture of me taken when Eric and I were in the nearby town. I hope you like it.

I’ll write again in a few days time.

Yours,

Edward

* * *

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.”

Helene began her confession absentmindedly, wondering when she would next see Edward.
What shall I confess?
Her mind ticked through the usual sins: jealousy, being disrespectful, failing to say her prayers, being unkind to her brother. Of course, the most significant items related to Edward, but she preferred not to tell Father Marcel about him.

It occurred to her that her secret life would shock her mother, that longing for Edward’s touch might be construed as wanton behaviour, that a desire for intimacy would be considered totally inappropriate for an unmarried woman.
But why should I confess to being in love?
Helene touched Edward’s picture, which was now almost always in her pocket, and sighed.

His letters arrived with varying frequency, and though more than a week had passed without one, somehow she knew he was safe and continued to write faithfully twice a week, recounting little stories about her life: a visit with Germaine, an episode about Jean, news of Guy, who had been on leave in Paris for a week, her mother’s continuing hospital duties. Helene noticed that her mother seemed more anxious than ever about Guy, as though expecting his luck would soon run out. The last time Guy wrote, Maman had wept for hours.

After six Hail Marys for the sin of disobedience, Helene sat back in the pew, idly watching others dip their fingertips in holy water to make the sign of the cross before kneeling in prayer, rosaries clicking. Bits of light sparkled in the sanctuary as sun shone through stained glass. Incense released memories of the cathedral in Paris where her family worshipped each Sunday amidst the splendour of society fashion. Her normally confident, proud father always seemed humbled by church, respectful of his position in God’s world. Helene wondered if her own faith was slipping away. Lately, Father Marcel’s weekly sermons offered no comfort, and as war continued to take its toll, she had begun to feel angry with God.

After confession, she took the path to the hilltop, walking slowly to savour autumn’s last warmth. She stopped to pick wild primrose and listen to the murmuring forest. When she neared the hut, she noticed the door was open and expected to find a farmer stopping to rest or a young boy exploring.

A moment later, Edward’s slim frame appeared, pacing up and down outside the hut, and she dropped her small bunch of wildflowers and ran to greet him. He pulled her into his arms, triggering a flush of heat as they kissed. They both spoke at once.

“Where . . .”

“How . . .”

“Earnshaw gave me a twenty-four-hour pass. I hitched a ride to Beaufort, but no one was at your house. I didn’t know where else to go.”

“I was at confession.” She laughed at the look on his face. “We usually go on Saturday. Maman says it’s good for the soul.”

He held her tightly again then loosened his embrace as he drew back to look at her, the longing in his eyes clear. Without speaking, she took his hand.

Months ago, when she had cleaned the hut, she understood that he might want her and had prepared for it, refilling the straw pallet with fresh, sweet-smelling hay, storing a soft flannel sheet and small pillow on a nearby shelf. Thoughts of intimacy made her feel both nervous and excited, but now that the time had come, she felt no hesitation. She spread the sheet and watched as a smile flooded his face.

“Come here,” he said.

Button by button, he undid her blouse and, when it was off, removed her brassiere, his breath catching as he ran his hands across her breasts, cupping them to feel their weight. She could feel his hardness straining against his trousers as he bent to suck each nipple, lingering to flick his tongue back and forth. When he lifted his head as if to admire his creation, Helene undid his shirt and pressed her breasts to his naked chest.

“You’re mine,” she said, shocked at her own boldness. Being naked with him felt like the most natural thing in the world.

“I want to be,” he whispered against her hair.

For some reason, it seemed important to take the initiative, so she loosened her arms, stepped out of her skirt and pulled him onto the pallet. Lying beside her, he touched every part of her body, watching her lips part as the heat flooded her face. Helene’s
breaths quickened as her body stirred with desire, his touch on her nipples creating a wanting ache in her groin.

When Edward removed his trousers, she saw how hard he was and shifted her legs to welcome him, crying out as he slid into her moistness. He remained still for a few moments then moved in and out with slow, gentle strokes until she grabbed his buttocks to hold him deep within, and he shuddered inside her.

They dozed for a while, limbs entangled. When she woke, he was propped on one elbow, looking down at her.

“I love you,” he said.

“Je t’aime,”
she said, leaning against him, her fingers caressing the hairs on his chest. She wanted him inside her again and the intense pleasure of his hands on her body. Edward turned and pulled her towards him.

“I want you forever,” he said.

Chapter 31

October 1917

“More than three years in Beaufort,” Helene said, rolling pastry for an apple pie, a smudge of flour on her left cheek.

She might as well not have spoken, for no one was in the kitc
hen. For that matter, no one was in the house since Jean was at school and her mother at the hospital writing endless letters for damaged soldiers. Helene knew this volunteer work was her mother’s way of coping and prayed that Guy would remain safe. She added a prayer for Edward and, as an afterthought, one for Francois.

During ten months of operation, the hospital had grown in size and reputation, and as a result, Beaufort bustled with Red Cross nurses and doctors while the streets were crowded with arriving and departing ambulances as well as trucks bringing endless rolls of bandages, surgical supplies, linens and food. When Helene went into town, she often saw wounded soldiers in wheelchairs pushed by orderlies or limping by on crutches. Those bearing maple leaves on their epaulets made her think of Edward, who was never far from her thoughts. Since making love, she knew with surprising certainty that she could spend the rest of her life with him.

Three years in Beaufort
, she mused once more.
If we had remained in Paris, I would never have met him. Would I have met someone else whose blend of intensity and calm makes me feel so safe? Someone whose thoughts seem so much in tune with mine and whose touch makes me melt?

The thought of Edward’s touch brought a smile to her thin, drawn face. His latest letter made her blush, and she had hidden it within the pages of an old encyclopaedia at the bottom of a pile of books in the attic; a place her mother would never look. When no one else was home, she went upstairs to read it again and again.

Helene never imagined making love with someone before marriage. Throughout her upbringing, she had been taught that women should protect their virginity at all costs and that sex outside marriage was a sin. She wondered whether war somehow suspended these values or whether taking on so much responsibility made her see life differently. Being intimate with Edward felt so natural, an act that was meant to be.

She shook her head and returned to pie making. With Maman so busy at the hospital, the house had become Helene’s domain, and after the pie, she prepared stew with leftover pork and vegetables from their garden.
Just about time to turn the garden
, she thought, making a mental note to mention it to Jean. Once the stew was simmering, she gather soiled clothes and sheets for their weekly laundry, scrubbing, rinsing and wringing each item by hand before hanging them outside in the pale sunshine.
It won’t be long until the weather turns
, she thought, noticing birds flying south on their annual pilgrimage and small squirrels darting about searching for fallen nuts.

As the years passed, Helene had become more accustomed to the rhythms of country life and now noticed the subtle changes marking each season. Instead of resenting cold and rain, she thought of them as renewal, God’s plan for protecting the earth. And she thought of her fellow villagers as the stable foundation on which societies grow and prosper. The older she got, the more worried she became, and now that France was entering its fourth year of war, she wondered if their world would survive and whether Edward would be part of her future.

A crashing boom echoing long into the distance made her jump.

Where are you, Edward? How long until I see you again?

* * *

Dearest Helene,

You are always in my thoughts. Every day I picture your sweet lips and imagine your soft touch, and suddenly, the war seems far away. Unfortunately, duties bring me back to reality, or Earnshaw yells for something that he needs “on the double” as he always says. It’s a wonder the army hasn’t invented the phrase “on the triple” to signify even more urgent items.

I am stationed northeast of Beaufort. (Perhaps you have read the newspapers and can imagine where.) We’ve had a very difficult few weeks, and I’m sorry that my letters have been less frequent, but there have been days when I’ve had no sleep at all. Keeping our equipment working has proven very difficult with so much enemy shelling and deep mud holes to contend with. We are constantly repairing our lines, and now that we are pushing forward, our unit has had to deal with abandoned German communications equipment as well.

I’m pleased that your mother is looking forward to my next visit, however, I worry that it will be many weeks before I have any leave. I’m too far away for a twenty-four-hour pass. When I do get a chance, you know that nothing will keep me from seeing you.

All my love,

Edward

* * *

Dear Maman

We departed two days ago, heading north to join the British for a further push. It was still dark and pelting rain when we left. Spent most of the day on the road. You have no idea how difficult it is to transport our artillery with the roads so damaged and muddy. When we arrived, we were lucky enough to have accomm
odation in underground cellars, and for once, warm food was ready for us.

The logistics of moving thousands of men and material around
the country are staggering. The other day, I spoke with one of our supply sergeants, who told me of complexities that would take your breath away. He said it’s almost like moving a small town including water, food, stores, ammunition, animals, cooking facilities, petrol, lumber, trucks, ambulances, clearing stations–I could go on and on. Getting everything moved correctly and in a timely fashion is next to impossible.

But now we are here and I believe we will be for a while. Ye
sterday, I sent a group out to consult with our engineers and discover what we are up against while I met with some British artillery officers. They proved friendlier than I thought they would be. The condition of the ground is terrible, all churned up and full of craters made by exploding shells, so I expect we will have a lot of hard work to do.

I was very happy to receive your package before we left and shared your delicious cakes with my men. Fresh socks and underclothes were also very welcome. I’m glad to hear that you are continuing your hospital work. I’m sure that many of the soldiers will think of you as their guardian angel.

You hinted that one of the Canadian soldiers is fond of Helene. Our allies are fighting very bravely and the Canadians are known as our shock troops–the men who get tough things done. It pleases me to know that she has an admirer. I’m sure her life in Beaufort is not what she expected, so different from Paris. Papa told me of Jean’s escapades. I’m sorry that I’m unable to provide the guidance that an older brother should. Tell him that he owes me a letter.

I know that you worry about me, but I am well and as careful as I can be under the circumstances. Your letters give me great comfort.

Your loving son,

Guy

* * *

Dear Helene,

I was so pleased to receive your letter. I hope I didn’t badger you too much to continue writing to me. Your stories about Beaufort provide a welcome glimpse of normal life, or as normal as it can be. I imagine you knitting socks around the fire and baking bread–such domestic activities for my friend! The man with the pigs must be an amusing character–in my mind, he’s as rotund as a pig, although I doubt he has a wet pink nose.

I am sad to tell you that three of my men sustained casualties recently. We were on a routine job repairing railway lines when two explosions hit. One of the men died instantly, and we sent the other two to hospital. Their injuries are
such that they will not return.

This war is destroying an entire generation of young men. I often wonder how our leaders allow such destruction. The costs are enormous, not only in casualties but also in damage to our way of life. How will France rebuild itself? Every family will have great sadness to endure after this war is over. We see some glimmers of hope now that the Germans have been pushed back at Aisne and Ypres–but the toll was horrific.

My engineers continue to dig tunnels, camouflage our defences and build our railways, but we have added more dangerous activities like removing booby traps as we clear German lines, preparing grenades and mortars and handling deadly chemicals. There are days when I feel that my soul is lost, and I wonder if I will ever find it.

I’m sorry to finish this letter on such a troubled note, but dear cousin, I do appreciate that I can tell you my thoughts. Please write again.

Francois

* * *

Helene sealed a letter to Francois, planning to take it along with one to Edward into town the following day. At times, she found it difficult to write to two such different men, one a dear friend and the other her lover and the man she hoped to marry. Letters to Francois were full of everyday incidents, designed to bring comfort and thoughts of a future without war, and she tried hard to make them amusing. The story of Monsieur Garnier’s pig winning a local competition for pig of the year had been one of them. She and Maman still chuckled at the memory of Monsieur Garnier beaming proudly and sporting a blue and red ribbon while standing next to his pig on a raised platform.

Letters to Edward consisted of feelings, words of encouragement and serious reflections on the war. Each time she wrote, she reiterated her love for him. Although she could not bear to think of either man being killed, she knew which death would destroy her completely.

“Helene! Where are you?” Her mother’s voice was sharp, and Helene rushed down the stairs and into the kitchen.

“What’s happened, Maman?”

Maman’s face was sombre but not distraught, and there was no sign of tears.
Thank God, it’s not Guy
, Helene thought.

“It’s Germaine’s fiancé. He’s been killed near Verdun. I heard it from Doctor Valdane, who had to prescribe a remedy for Jacques’s mother.”

“Oh, Maman. Germaine will be terribly upset. Do you think I should go into town?”

“That would be the best kindness you could do for your friend. She will need someone her own age to talk to.”

* * *

By the time Helene arrived in Beaufort, it was early afternoon, and the wind had reddened her cheeks and loosened tendrils of hair from the chignon she had quickly fastened before leaving. She had walked briskly, encountering no one except a young boy playing with a stick at the side of the road, and had crossed the square and turned up the narrow street where Germaine lived with her family. She found a piece of black cloth hanging on their door.

“Germaine will be grateful that you’ve come,” said Madame Dubois as she hung Helene’s coat on a hook beside the door. “She’s in the parlour. She heard the news this morning and has been with Jacques’s family until a short while ago.”

“How is she?” Helene whispered, feeling that death demanded
quiet.

Madame Dubois shrugged. “It’s been a bad day.”

Helene went along the corridor and into the parlour, located at the back of the narrow house behind the kitchen, where she found Germaine lying on the sofa with a compress across her brow.

“How are you, my friend? I’m so terribly sorry to hear about Jacques.”

Germaine removed the compress and opened her red-rimmed eyes. “Thank you for coming.” She reached out a hand, which Helene enclosed in hers feeling a slight tremor.

After releasing Germaine’s hand, Helene brought a chair close to the sofa. “Your mother said you’ve been with Jacques’s family.”

Germaine nodded. “They’ve been so good to me. Ever since . . . ever since Jacques went away, they’ve treated me like one of the family. Almost as though we had married. He . . .” She stopped talking and swallowed then took several deep breaths. “He was supposed to come home in a few weeks for a brief leave. We even talked about getting . . . getting married instead of waiting any longer. Maman and I were planning to alter her wedding gown. But now . . .” Germaine said nothing more as tears rolled down her cheeks.

Helene took Germaine’s hand again but remained silent, unce
rtain what words might offer comfort.

They sat that way for a while until Germaine started speaking again. “He was shot, but that’s not why he died. He died because he fell into a deep crater as he tried to make it to safety and drowned before anyone could rescue him. They were in the midst of battle so no one could . . .” her voice trailed off again.

“Oh,
chérie
, how dreadful.”

“When they send his body home, we can bury him. You’ll come to the funeral, won’t you, Helene? It would give me great comfort to have you there.”

“
Bien sur.
Of course I will be there. And I’ll be there for anything else you need.”

“Will you come again tomorrow?” Germaine sounded as though she had been turned inside out.

“You should get some rest now. I’ll come again tomorrow.”

* * *

“You have been a good friend,
chérie
,” her mother said when Helene returned to Tante Camille’s, feeling as though her world had tipped and was spinning out of control. “I’m sure Germaine appreciated your visit.”

“I promised I
will see her again tomorrow.”