A War Within (Epic WWI Love Story) Read online

  “Raulf, please take us home,” Isabelle said while she climbed inside. “I can’t bear to watch.”

  They climbed in the back of the carriage and Raulf clucked the horses on. After a somber few minutes riding in silence, Alexis, forever trying to cheer everyone up, broke the dismal mood.

  “You sure looked incredible in that dress, Isabelle. When they finish sewing on the details it’s going to be even more incredible.”

  “It will be perfect.” A smile started on her lips just thinking about it and her upcoming wedding, but her mind kept going back to the town square and those boys signing their lives away.

  “I think it’s perfect. Absolutely perfect. Pierre is going to pass out at the altar when he sees you.”

  “You were a vision, Isabelle. He is a lucky man,” Henri said.

  The carriage hit a rut and they all tumbled about.

  Alexis righted herself and scowled. “Can we please get a car, Papa?”

  “That will never happen.” Isabelle snorted. “He’ll be carted off to his funeral proudly behind a horse-drawn hearse. I kind of like it, to be honest. Not to mention that no one in our tiny village has a car and people would surely call us snobs if we got one.”

  “You’re correct, dear daughter.” Henri smiled and patted her thigh. “I’ve lived my whole life without a car and I don’t need one now, thank you very much.”

  “Perhaps just a car to get us to the city more quickly so I can visit Aunt Brigitte more often?” Alexis asked, giving him her sweetest smile.

  Their aunt lived in a small city situated between Paris and Chantilly. Visiting her and spending time in the cities shopping and socializing with France’s elite was one of Alexis’ favorite things to do. Isabelle enjoyed the occasional visit, but far preferred her life on the horse farm, racing around the countryside on her mare, Chantal.

  “I doubt it, Alexis. He misses you while you’re gone, and I can’t imagine he’ll be getting a car so you can leave more often.”

  “Correct again, Isabelle.” He beamed.

  Alexis crossed her arms and slumped back in her seat. “I suppose I’ll just have to keep riding behind smelly horses until I find the perfect suitor to whisk me away and buy me a whole fleet of cars.”

  “You can have your suitor and your cars.” Isabelle rolled her eyes. “I want nothing to do with being a society wife. Thankfully, Pierre would never force that on me. I’ll keep the horses and the quiet life in the country; you can have the city and the cars.”

  “Deal.” Alexis smiled and gave an exaggerated shake of her sister’s hand.

  Though they were very different in looks and personality, the two sisters were close and had been their whole lives. But for all their differences, their love for each other remained the one identical thing between them.

  Even after Alexis’ attempt to lighten the mood, the two-mile ride down the bumpy dirt road was a somber one. Until now, her little village, Besléuille, just east of Aubevoye in the northwest of France, somehow had managed to remain undisturbed by war. Though the Western Front lay only seventy miles away, the soldiers hadn’t bothered to stop by to recruit the only young men left in town. Perhaps it was because her village was so small it couldn’t even be found on a map. On the quietest nights when the air was cool and crisp, she could sometimes hear the faint sound of gunshots and bombs whispering in the distance. Yet her small village remained untouched, even three years earlier when the Germans first invaded and briefly pushed farther down into France.

  The men of age were conscripted and marched off to service, but only a few young men raced valiantly off into battle when the war first broke out. Most stayed home to protect their land and their families in the event the Germans broke through. Isabelle hoped that this war would somehow leave her life unaffected. The dozens of men from her town that would now be in harm’s way ensured that dream would soon disappear. The beautiful, joyful little village she called home would be filled with grief and sadness as the death notices started to arrive.

  Up ahead she saw the fences that designated the start of Chateau Cheval, her family home and the namesake for their wine business. The sprawling estate was comprised of over a thousand acres of rolling fields, vineyards, and horse pastures. Directly in the center was the custom steeplechase training course used to train the horses they bred. Her father had bought up every surrounding acre of property he could find after inheriting the first five hundred from his family. He wanted more room for horses and vineyards, but more importantly, he wanted to preserve the tranquility that came with living on Chateau Cheval. There would be no nosy neighbors building a home next door, impeding on his private paradise.

  The horses sensed home, and the carriage gained speed. With no direction from Raulf, the horses turned left between the large stone pillars marking the entrance of their home. They trotted their way down the long, winding cobblestone driveway lined with manicured bushes and trees. As they crossed over the stone bridge, she noticed the recently melted snow had caused the stream below it to rush with a stronger force than usual. When they crested the hill, she could see her family’s home up ahead.

  It was built in 1799 by her great grandfather. He’d worked with some of France’s best architects to build a home fit for a king. The grey stone home boasted over fifteen bedrooms, multiple parlors for entertaining, and quarters for all the staff. She had lived here her whole life, but the beauty of it took her breath away every time she returned. Just seeing the familiar sight soothed the anxiety ripping through her gut.

  As they neared the house, Isabelle saw a familiar bay gelding with a unique star on his forehead tied near the house. It was Pierre’s horse, Belafonte. Excitement to see him pushed out all the dread inside and she bounced in her seat.

  “Hurry, Raulf! Pierre is here!” Raulf urged the horses into a canter.

  Recently, his visits had become infrequent since he attended school in Paris. Pierre was studying to become a lawyer, a dream he’d had since childhood. The sixty miles between her home and Paris made visits difficult, and he was only able to come and visit her every few weeks. It had been over a month since his last visit.

  The carriage pulled up to the house and Isabelle jumped out before it even came to a stop. She started her way up the wide stone stairs, taking two at a time. When she reached the top, the front door opened. Her eyes lit up and her lips turned up into a huge grin when she saw the face of her Pierre standing in the doorway.

  Before she finished the sprint across the porch to run into his arms, she came to an abrupt stop. Her smile sank along with her heart. His dark curls peeked out from under the blue cap as he stood before her in a blue French Cavalry uniform. With feet frozen to the stones beneath her, she struggled to take her next breath. This can’t be happening. He didn’t. He couldn’t have joined.

  “Hello, darling! What do you think of my new uniform? Don’t you think I look dashing?” he asked with his usual mischievous smile before doing a little twirl. His mocha eyes lit up with an excitement she didn’t share. Unable to answer, she stammered over words while he came forward and swept her into his arms. “Aren’t you happy to see me, love?” he asked, stepping back to examine the frozen look on her face.

  “Pierre,” she whispered, struggling to force the word out. “This must be a joke. A sick, sick joke. I know you couldn’t have possibly been stupid enough to join up with the army. And only eight months before our wedding? We’re supposed to be married in October and you’ll be off at war... or worse! You could be dead! You didn’t. Please tell me you didn’t!”

  “Isabelle.” Pierre’s face softened, and he reached out to touch hers. “Don’t worry, my love. Once I join the men the war will be over in a few months. We’ve got them on the run already and once they see me coming, they will go running with tails tucked. You have nothing to fear!” His grin grew, and pride radiated from his eyes.

  A churning in her stomach made her swallow hard to keep her lunch down. Pierre was a sweet man, a wonderful fr
iend and partner, but a soldier he was not. Living a privileged life, he’d never known hardship or wanted for anything. He’d never seen battle and aside from the fox hunts he went on once a year she didn’t think he’d ever shot a gun. He would never survive. In the deepest place in her heart, she knew if he left she would never see him again.

  “How could you, Pierre? You will get yourself killed and then I will be left here alone! How could you do that to me? To us? I thought you loved me!” she cried, tears now pouring down her heated cheeks.

  “Isabelle, please.” He reached out and wiped a tear from her cheek. “You have to understand. When the recruiters came to my college, everyone joined up. Had I not joined I would have looked like a chicken. I don’t want people to see us after we’re married and say, ‘There goes Isabelle. I can’t believe she married that chicken!’ Now they will see us and say, ‘There goes Isabelle with a war hero!’ I did this for us, love! You’ll see. I’ll be fine, and I’ll be home in time for our wedding. I promise.”

  When he pulled her into his embrace her numb body didn’t resist. The anger and fear caused her body to crumple into his arms while her tears poured onto his new uniform. How could he be so certain he would live when she was so certain he would not?

  “You would rather impress people than stay safe and live a long life with me? What good is a war hero when you are dead and I’m alone?” she said between sobs. “You can’t go. You have to get off the list! You can’t! You mustn’t go!”

  “Isabelle, my love. I already signed up and leave today. I need to stop at home since I head out for training tomorrow. I was just here to tell you goodbye. I’m so sorry. I had no idea you would be this upset.”

  Realizing that there was nothing she could do to convince him to stay, she ripped herself from his arms and raced down the drive to the barn. Pierre called after her but she was too blinded with rage and tears to turn and see him running behind her. Whipping open the door to the stables, she ran into Chantal’s empty stall and fell to the ground before sobbing into the straw bed.

  Pierre walked into the stall and slid down the wall into the straw beside her before taking her hand. Looking up through tear-filled eyes she could see by the sadness coloring his own that he never intended to hurt her. She flung her arms around his neck and cried softly on his shoulder.

  “You’re my best friend and soon to be my husband. I can’t lose you, Pierre. I can’t. Promise me. Promise me, Pierre that you will come home to me. Can you promise me?”

  “I promise. I will come home to you. Just know that I love you and I will be back. Just have faith, my darling.”

  Pulling back she searched his face and traced the scar that ran across his cheekbone. He’d gotten it in an accident when he was a young boy while playing on the weeping willow tree down by her family’s pond. They’d been taking turns swinging on the branches and then flying off into the water. When Pierre’s turn arrived, the branch broke and instead of landing safely in the water, he soared head first into a log on the ground. The wood slit his face and left a long, jagged scar across his left cheek. A little shiver crept up her spine as Isabelle remembered how terrified she was while he lay there bleeding. It was nothing compared to the terror she felt now.

  They sat in a quiet embrace until it was time for him to go. He mounted Belafonte and leaned down to give her one last kiss goodbye.

  “I’ll be back for you soon, my darling. I promise. I love you.”

  Watching him cantering away down the long driveway she wondered if she would ever see him again.

  CHAPTER TWO

  September 1916, France

  CAPITAINE AUGUSTE LEROUX sat in the dark wood room trying to get comfortable on the old rickety chair. Even after countless attempts to shift his weight, he found no relief and the ache in his bones only grew stronger by the minute. These strategy meetings always went on for what seemed like an eternity. They would spend hours poring over maps and data trying to anticipate the moves of the approaching German soldiers. Though a necessary part of his job since his recent promotion to Capitaine, he hated these meetings and counted the minutes until he could get back out to his men. Developing strategies to keep his French soldiers alive was now his primary concern, so he sat through them anyway.

  The men argued incessantly while he listened to their ideas about the best strategy against the Germans as they gained more ground toward the Western Front. Casualties from both sides had grown into the hundreds of thousands and the war didn’t appear to be ending anytime soon. Auguste tried to listen, but his mind continued to drift off elsewhere. A constant pang had lived in his gut these past three years. Like a dull ache that turned into a painful throb, it grew stronger every day as he moved farther up the ranks. When he was named Capitaine, the pang grew too intense to ignore.

  After the meeting ended, Auguste stepped out of the roughly built wood shack into the open air. As he walked through the cold, muddy camp, he glanced around at the sea of soldiers he’d been charged with leading. Even in these dank conditions after years of struggle, their spirits were still alive and well and they could be heard singing, laughing, and wrestling while they warmed themselves by the small fires dotted across the encampment. Just a couple weeks out of the horrors of the trenches had done wonders for their morale. While he headed to his tent, he watched them and wondered how many of them would be alive in a month, a week... even a day. He looked over the faces of the men, men he had grown close to during the three years he had been in the French Army. Even through their laughter he could still see the fear flickering in their eyes, like the fires they sat beside.

  “Capitaine Leroux! Join us! We found some wine!”

  Auguste turned to see his best friend, Lieutenant Jean-Luc Pettit. He was shorter than most, but although his height wasn’t impressive, he compensated for his shorter stature by keeping himself in perfect shape. His brown eyes lit up with excitement as he waved Auguste over and grinned that same smile he wore the first day they met enlisting together in the French Army.

  When Auguste enlisted, he had no desire to make friends. In fact, it had been in his best interests to avoid them all together. But Jean-Luc’s persistence finally wore him down and soon the two had become as close as brothers, and he considered Jean-Luc just that. Auguste had never known friendship like what he shared with Jean-Luc, because prior to him, he’d never known friendship at all. For the first time in his life he had an idea what it would have been like to have a family.

  “Hello, Jean-Luc,” Auguste said as he smiled in response to the question. “I would love to join you. I could use a drink.” He walked over to the table where Jean-Luc sat with several of their comrades. They were taking turns passing around a muddied bottle of wine and smoking the cigarettes they had managed to get their hands on.

  “Aces are wild!” Private Colin said as Auguste pulled up one of the crates they were using as chairs. They passed him the bottle of wine and he took a good, long swig and felt his body warm as it passed through his lips.

  “When do you think we’ll be able to go to a real bar again? You know, a bar with cold drinks and warm women?” Private Bastien, who joined just a few months ago, asked.

  “Soon, mates, soon! We’re all due for a leave,” Jean-Luc answered. “Although when we go to the bars to pick up ladies, the one thing I want to leave behind is Auguste. In my experience, if Auguste is in the room there isn’t a lady’s eye that’s not on him! He cuts my odds down to about ten to one!” They all rolled with laughter as Auguste felt the heat move to his cheeks and he shook his head against the taunting.

  He had grown from a string bean of a teenager into a man that snapped the heads of every lady who passed by him. It still felt unnatural for him to get so much attention based on his appearance. After so many years of feeling like a gawky outcast he didn’t think he’d ever get used to it.

  “Oh, come on, Frosty, we’re just teasing! Of course, we want you to come.” Jean-Luc rapped him in the arm, and his contagious laugh
ter got Auguste to crack a smile.

  “You mean Capitaine Frosty, right Jean-Luc?” Enzo jumped on the pile of teasing and grinned before spitting into the dirt.

  Auguste rolled his eyes and let the taunting remarks hit their mark. Frosty was a nickname he’d earned back in training camp on account of his ice-blue eyes.

  Jean-Luc continued teasing. “Don’t worry, boys. Though he changes our odds with the ladies when he walks into a bar, luckily for us, Auguste doesn’t have much of an appetite for one-night-stands and lengthy conversations. He usually leaves the ladies to us and sticks with the whiskey. Isn’t that right, Auguste?”

  Auguste sucked the air through his teeth and nodded, letting the good-natured teasing subside on its own. “They’re all yours, boys. Now, are we going to play cards or are you going to continue the tormenting?”

  “All right, all right,” Jean-Luc said, raising his hands in submission. “We’ll leave you be, Capitaine Frosty.”

  Auguste chuckled and took another swig of the wine.

  “Auguste, you know Private Robert Blanch, right?” Jean-Luc asked. “He just arrived today and said you two knew each other from your hometown of Aries. I said any friend of yours is a friend of mine!”

  A chill washed over his body like he’d fallen into a frozen lake. Struggling to inhale his next breath and control his breathing, it felt like he was trapped beneath the icy surface. A snake of dread slithered up his spine, and he stiffened against it. A slow turn brought him to face the one soldier he’d never seen before.

  “Capitaine Leroux,” the unfamiliar man said with a rigid, forced smile. “It’s wonderful to see a friendly face.”