ANZAC Day

©2008 by: Natalie

Part 7

One-hundred fifty miles. They’d come so far, been through so much, and he’d be dammed if they didn’t find another way home. They were deep in a forest, far enough from the road to be safe and unseen. Cecile was kneeling in the mud. She was beyond crying; her sobs so deep they were painfully silent.

“Cecile, love, you gotta get up.” He took her arm and helped her to stand. “We gotta find another car or something to get us out of here.”

She shook her head. “It is lost, Lachlan. We can never meet our contact now.”

Lachlan gripped her shoulders, gently shook her to gain her full attention. “What are you saying, Cecile? We should just give up?”

She slowly shook her head; her face stained with tears. “Jean-Paul …”

“Jean-Paul would not have given up. You know that!” Lachlan nearly shouted. “He wouldn’t want us to give up.”

She looked up into his face. Her eyes, her beautiful blue eyes were rimmed red and Lachlan’s heart went out to her. He’d seen her frail shoulders carry weapons and explosive, bear the burden of her secrecy and now, the terrible loss of one so young.

“Cecile, darlin’, he died doing his duty, doing what he could to save his country.” Lachlan cupped her face, his thumb wiping away her tears. “He died for us, love. The way I see it, if we give up, his death was for nothin’.”

She took a deep breath and gathered her wits. “You are right, of course,” she nodded.

Lachlan grinned sadly. “Don’t ya know I’m always right, love?”

She chuckled quietly. “Yes, yes, of course. I had forgotten.” She stepped back and looked around. “Now, Monsieur Always-Right, where are we?”

Lachlan had taken the lead, not because Cecile was incapable, not because she had nearly given up, but because he suddenly felt the responsibility of protecting not only himself but her from the hidden dangers all around them. Deep in enemy territory, he knew the perils awaiting them if discovered. She had done well, remarkably well, and it was time to step up and do well by her.

They walked for miles in silence. The sun slowly slipped behind the trees and it was twilight. Soon, it would be too dark to see and Lachlan searched for shelter for the night. A quarter mile further, they came across an opened dirt road and abandoned farm. The house was pitifully destroyed; roof caved in and a wall demolished. It would have been a fine place to sleep the night but rain again threatened, ominous clouds blocking the moonlight and hiding stars. No, the house wouldn’t do. They would need rest for what lie ahead.

But the barn was still standing. As darkness licked damp and heavy around them, Lachlan led Cecile to the old structure. The large door creaked when he opened it and inside it smelled of animals long gone. Looking back at the house, he tried not to think of the family that once lived there, of children now dead or starving in the city, of the animals, stolen and butchered to feed the German soldiers.

Just inside there was a ladder to the hayloft. Lachlan climbed and looked around. Surprisingly, there was still sweet hay stored in the loft so he tore open the bales and made as comfortable a bed as possible. Cecile joined and helped spread the hay, mindless activity to hold her threatening fears at bay. She stretched out in it, snuggling as deep as she could.

Not far from her, Lachlan spread more of the aromatic hay for himself. He lay on his side, his head propped on his arm in the silence. Thunder rumbled in the distance and the sound of rain splattered against the roof. It was dim, heavy, so quiet he could hear his heartbeat and for the first time since falling into the able hands of the French Resistance, Lachlan felt the tremendous pressure of his own survival. He thought of friends and family back home, of the man who sold newspapers on the corner in London, of a little girl he saw once on the train to Sydney before he became a soldier. This could easily be the last day of his life, he realized. The last day of Cecile’s life. Who knew Jean-Paul would draw his last breath only hours earlier? The possibilities were always looming just beyond his consciousness, but at that moment, they stood front and center.

An uncontrollable tremble of fear rippled along his spine. The last day. Last hours. Last moments. Were they important?  He could hardly see Cecile in the dim light, but he could feel her, sense her warmth, her pain. Cecile was an extraordinary woman and he admired her more that night than ever before. He noticed her more in the darkness than he had all their days in brilliant daylight. She was to be his savior, and now he would be hers.

“Don’t worry, love. We’ll get through this.”

Her silence was painful and he longed to reach for her, to reach for comfort but he didn’t. He rolled to his back and listened to the rain. He listened to his own heartbeat and prayed for sleep.

“Lachlan,” she said quietly.

“Yes, love?” He heard her sigh and softly sniffle. Then he heard the rustle of hay as her warm hand reached to his.

“Please, come here to me.”

He turned and strained to see her in the darkness. Was she feeling what he was? That desperate need to touch and be held? For weeks she had been remote, professional, distant. Even within her heartbreak, she had stood as strong as possible, willingly following him to meet their contact when it would have been far easier to save herself and leave him behind or demand that they turn back. His eyes adjusted and he saw the shape of her lovely face, the longing and need in it. And he reminded himself, this could easily be the last day of our lives.

His hand cupped hers and their fingers intertwined. “Cecile, you sure?”

“Yes,” was her simple reply.

~*~

The desperation had seemed to dissolve the closer their bodies came. Lachlan’s fears slid again to the back of his mind and his heart expanded to control everything he knew to be true and real. Fair dinkum. Touch; the intensity of sharing their life force through their flesh ignited them and dictated every movement. Without thought they stripped themselves of fabric and persona, rank and responsibility. They became one, there in the center of a war torn world that had somehow forgotten love, forgotten the simple joys of a sigh or a tender whisper, of a soft smile in the darkness and Lachlan knew that it was a defining moment. One that would put it all into perspective some day in the future. It was a moment of clarity that was worth every risk required to attain it.

It wasn’t the reach across a short expanse of hay that had brought them together that night. It was the long journey they had made, side by side, through unbelievable difficulties. A deep hunger growled in his chest and his body electrified to the touch of her soft fingertips. There were no words correct to speak at that moment and no words would have formed for him at any rate. He felt the sensations of being sucked into her nurturing warmth and an overwhelming need to have her at once.

They were as silent as possible, their bodies moving smoothly, without trepidation or even curiosity. It was as though they had been lovers for years, had known the terrain of each other, where to touch and taste, when to slow and when to move ahead. Entering Cecile was unlike any experience Lachlan could remember. A homecoming. His heart sped as he felt her body tremble, wrapped securely around his.

Rain intensified outside their private sanctuary and the sound of it melted and flowed with his thrusts. They were elegant, the perfect blend of harmony and longing, need and comfort and the moment he filled her with his explosive climax, Lachlan knew without a doubt that in another time and place, he would never release her. Never leave her behind. She would be his and he would hold her safe forever … but a war raged somewhere outside of their reality. For the first time he understood it all. War was about love. It was about love for family and country, for one’s beliefs and traditions that twisted lives into the ugly dimension where they had found each other. And Lachlan Curry finally knew his place in it all.

The face of that war had become real, flesh and bone and blood; Cecile’s face, Lechat, Jean-Paul and the faces of the soldiers who had taken the boy’s young life. Real. And nothing would ever again seem the same to him as long as he lived.

~*~

They lay quietly and their breathing slowed. Lachlan held her close. She laid her head on his shoulder, her arm wrapped around his waist. They lay in silence for long moments, but then Cecile broke the silence with a quiet question.

“How did you come to be a pilot, Lachlan?”

He told his story; his life in Australia, learning to fly in the bush. He told her of his time in Manitoba, of Lil, Betsy and Zeke. He told her of England, of his crew and his missions, of his beloved plane. And he told her of his dreams of going home again, to Australia; of settling down with a nice girl and having a family. Of peace.

She sighed. “That is a nice life. I’m glad you told me.”

He looked sideways at her. “So what about you, love? What’s your story? How did you get involved in this?”

“Ah, yes. My story.” She snuggled closer. “I met my husband, Joshua, when I was very young. He had left university and come to teach chemistry at our local school and was my brother’s teacher. My brother, he wasn’t doing well, so Joshua offered to tutor him in the evenings. My parents would invite him to stay for dinner and that was how we met.

“Our courtship was very slow at first. He was very shy, as was I. But we did come to love each other and planned to be married. My parents did not approve. You see, Joshua was Jewish and they wanted me to marry a nice Catholic young man. They tried to separate us, but they could not. My heart belonged to Joshua and eventually, they agreed to our marriage.

“We had not been married long when the Germans came to our town. They took over the school and prevented my Joshua from teaching there. We survived the best we could. I took in sewing and Joshua worked for a local store in their stockroom. Several of our neighbors were disappearing. We would hear that the Gestapo came in the night to take them away, that they were traitors. But we knew that it was because they were Jewish.”

She groaned softly. “Joshua and I, we thought we were safe. I was not Jewish and he was married to me. How could they take us? We were foolish. So foolish.”

She fell silent and Lachlan tenderly cradled her close, kissing her hair and whispering encouragement. “Go on, love.”

 “They came for Joshua late one night. I tried to prevent them, but they were stronger and tore him from my arms. They pushed him into their truck and drove away.

“I was told that he was put aboard a train that night. He was deported to Poland, to one of their work camps there. I will never see him again. Very few ever come home from those camps.”

Lachlan rocked her in his arms. “You never know, Cecile. He might make it home.”

“No, he will not. I cannot explain it, but I know he is not coming home. After he was taken, I offered myself in assistance to the Maquis. A friend who knew of my desire introduced me to Lechat. At first, I did little things; carrying messages and such. Soon they taught me how to shoot, at first as a courier to protect myself. Later, I joined in missions.”

“How did you meet Jean-Paul? Was he already in your group?” Lachlan asked.

“No, he joined us later. To protect ourselves, we do not know more than two or three other Maquisard. But Lechat, he asked me to train Jean-Paul and we became a team. We worked together many times. Now we will never work together again.” She choked back her tears. “He was like my brother.”

“Me too, like a little brother,” Lachlan agreed with a sad nod. “He reminded me of home.”

He held her as she mourned Jean-Paul, gentling her, soothing her. Lachlan did not fall asleep until after he heard her breath slow and deepen, and no longer felt fresh tears fall against his chest. His sleep was deep and replenishing, they had purged themselves of their demons and their desperation within each other’s arms and it was somehow correct and right. Fair dinkum.

Chapter Eight