It wasn’t just the harvest, although to get even the barest fraction of the wheat in took cajoling and bribing and constant vigilance. No. Everyone looked to the lady of Courcelles for advice and reassurance. With the telegraph wires all cut, Aurélie was the first word from the greater world they had heard for some time. No use to tell them that they were as much in ignorance in the capital as at Courcelles; Aurélie began shamelessly making up stories, reinforcements from England, German spies uncovered, the Kaiser sick with food poisoning. That last was pure wishful thinking, but she certainly enjoyed the image, and she could tell her audience did, as well.
Perhaps saying it would make it so. She certainly hoped so.
Miraculously, the weather held. The only thunder was the constant echo of the guns, sometimes stuttering, sometimes in full volley, but never silent. To the west, the battle raged on and on, but Courcelles, in its valley, might almost have been Noah’s boat in the storm, cut off from the world, bobbing along alone.
“Those are French guns,” said Victor hopefully. “Can’t you hear? It’s our boys, routing the Hun.”
To Aurélie, the guns sounded like guns, and she was so weary, she was about to plant her nose in her soup, but she nodded all the same.
On the afternoon of the sixteenth of September, ten days after her return home if one believed the calendar, a century or so according to her aching muscles, Aurélie was in the village, badgering the baker, when the sound of hoofbeats sent everyone running into the square. A French cavalry division thundered toward them. Chasseurs, cuirassiers, dragoons, cyclists, gunners all thronged the small square, bringing with them shouts of joy. The baker’s wife rushed to bring them loaves of bread; the café owner hauled out bottles of wine.
“It’s over!” called out a dragoon, as his horse reared back, hooves clattering on the cobbles. “You won’t see anything more of the Germans but the back of them!”
“Praise God!” called out old Madame Lemaire, the baker’s mother-in-law, dropping her false teeth in her excitement.
One of the cavalry officers reined in, dropping to his feet. “Aurélie?”
“Jean-Marie?” Aurélie embraced her intended on both cheeks. “Is it true?”
“I thought you’d said you’d go back to Paris.” For a man celebrating a great victory, Jean-Marie didn’t look joyful. His cheeks were sunken and his eyes haunted.
“What does it matter if the Germans are really gone?”
“I—” Jean-Marie cast a furtive look over his shoulder. “I’m not so sure they are, not really. It’s—it’s not what I thought war would be like.”
Poor Jean-Marie, thought Aurélie with affectionate toleration, just like her father, caught in a chivalric dream of an era long ago.
“Who cares so long as it’s over?”
“But it’s not. We’re still fighting. We’ve pushed them back, but . . . Do you think they’ll give up that easily? The things we’ve seen . . . the things we’ve done—”
Aurélie squeezed his hand. “It’s war,” she said comfortingly. “The priest will shrive you.”
“I suppose,” said Jean-Marie doubtfully. “But—”
“Come to the castle,” urged Aurélie. “My father would be glad to see you. He’ll want to hear all about your battles.”
“But I’m not sure I’d want to tell it,” said Jean-Marie, with unwonted resolve.
He did not, realized Aurélie with alarm, look at all like the same man she had dropped at Haudouin ten days ago. It wasn’t just the gray cast of his skin. It was something more, something behind his eyes. But that was silly and fanciful.
“Come,” said Aurélie again. “Our hospitality isn’t up to my mother’s standard, but we can offer you a good, thick stew and a soft bed—with fresh sheets.”
“It sounds like heaven,” said Jean-Marie, and he sounded more like himself again, more like the boy she had always known. “But that’s the signal. We’re moving on. I can’t stay. I—”
“D’Aubigny!” barked his commanding officer.
“You should be proud,” said Aurélie, trying to raise his spirits. She stood by his stirrup as he mounted. “I always said one Frenchman was worth twenty Huns!”
Jean-Marie gave her a wistful smile. “Then it’s a pity there are so many of them.”