Flaneur ✅💋

Epilogue

November 29, 1950

There was something soothingly melodic about the clinking sound the hoe made when it hit the pebbles buried within the earth. Genevieve raised it over and over, bringing it down to tend her garden. A few vegetables were ready for harvest and she needed to replace them with fresh bulbs and seeds to keep her food supply from dwindling. She couldn't remember the last time she had gone into the city for provisions. It wasn't necessary with her farm providing nearly all of her essentials.

The Americans had held true to their word. They'd gifted her a nice chunk of land in Red House, New York complete with stables and an enormous barn to house livestock. The peace and quiet of her rural retirement was just an added bonus. 

She'd had to build her own chicken coop when Waltz ran through the first one and killed all of the poor birds. She stopped tilling the ground, wiping sweat from her brow to laugh at Waltz snapping his jaws at a fluttering moth.  He had grown into such a handsome dog with thick fur of copper and midnight. He was laying on the porch, as he did so often these days, but leapt up with a snarl when the insect fluttered by again. It didn't take him long before he lost interest and settled back down for another nap. She shook her head, going back to her task at hand.

Just as she swung the hoe down, Waltz bolted down from the porch howling and barking madly. Her heart lurched at the suddenness of it all, of her calm companion roaring with ferocious excitement. "Waltz!" she called to him, but he dashed down the long dirt road. She followed his gaze and dropped the hoe. Off in the distance the outline of a person walking down the twisted driveway filled her vision. No one ever came to see her. No one. 

She rushed inside, tearing through her drawers as she tried to recall where she had hid the guns she'd placed in them eight years earlier. Realizing now that it was both a blessing and a curse that she hadn't needed them since they were stowed away.  "Damn!" she hissed, slamming her finger in a drawer.

"Where is it!" She panicked, rooting through the pastel blue desk in her room. Her mind whirred with the possibilities of where she could have hidden the weapons, until it settled on the kitchen. She raced to the window, seeing the individual had gotten close enough to hear their footfalls. It was a man, that much was clear, but his back was turned to her. A glossy leather coat was all she could make out through her shamefully dusty windows.  She reached below the sink and pulled out the rifle she kept there behind the false backing, checking to see if it was loaded and taking the safety off.  Silver glinted up at her from the magazine.

With the utmost stealth, she made her way outside.  Her gun raised and trained on the intruder's back, giving him no time to size her up. Waltz, the little traitor, was sniffing the man and wagging his tail happily. His barks had ceased their ferocity, and instead became gleeful little yaps. The man was scratching Waltz behind the ear with a weathered hand. "What business do you have here?" She let the man hear her cock the gun, to show him the threat was real.

The man's back stiffened up straight, the leather coat rumpling. "Well," he finally spoke in a familiar drawl, "I'm glad to see that Waltz remembers me at least." She couldn't move a muscle while the man turned around. His oceanic eyes shined brightly in the afternoon sun, and she could see the tell tale sign of his aging as the crow's feet around the outer edges crinkled while he regarded her with a disarming smile. Disarming and weary.

"Nicolas?" The gun suddenly seemed to weigh a thousand pounds in her hands. Her fingers unfurled around the weapon and it fell from her hands. Nicolas snatched it up before it could hit the ground. He placed it gently against the bottom step and smiled nervously. Overwhelming shock racked through her as she wobbled where she stood, knees buckling.