Guns and Horses

Chapter Seven: Hope and Love

CHAPTER SEVEN

D A N N Y 

January 17' 1917

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The guest house was like a thousand other establishments a small three floored old French building with stone walls and a floral interior, or at least it had once. The windows had been blown out and there now stood blank wooden panels like the closed eyes of a corpse. It wasn’t a pleasant sight and I knew as I stared at the men guiltily approach the red lamp that hung outside the door, that what lay inside was no longer the holiday home it had once been.

I shuddered the evening pulling a cold layer over me, turning away from the brothel I headed back to the small secluded corner of the village I had set up for myself and Black Jack. The rest of my company had acquired some alcohol and were happily laughing the night away, most likely they would find there selves in the arms of a woman. I suppose they wished not to die virgins but I have head of men being hospitalized due to some embarrassing problems, the thought made me laugh. As I headed back through the ruins of the village a sudden red light shone from the window of one of the buildings and before I could avert my eyes a woman appeared, her dress hanging low over her chest. She did not seem to notice me but I doubt she took in anything, her gaze was dull and she held herself with a brassy confidence but little pleasure.

“Vous pouvez agent?” A woman appeared at the doorway her dress only slightly higher than the woman in the window.

“I’m sorry.” I turned away and headed away from the house my face growing red after being caught in the act.

“Wait monsieur.” I stopped and turned back to the woman my eyes hung low over her feet.

“Officer?” She asked her hand outstretched.

“No.”

“Ida!” A husky voice shouted from inside the house and the women retracted her hand, her head tucking itself into her shoulder.

“Je suis desolee,” she whispered and rushed back into the dark doorway.

There wasn’t much I could do, the woman’s eyes had been so soulless, so helpless that part of me hoped she hadn’t been begging me for help. I dug my hand into my pocket and pulled out my new cigarette packet, I hadn’t smoked back in Scotland but now it had become a habit. I flicked my match and lit my cigarette that I held clenched between my front teeth, the embers glowing red as the paper and sweat tobacco burnt. Looking back up at the window I saw the curtains had been drawn across and the woman gone, it was so sad these women had to resort to selling their bodies, part of me saw a peace of Rose in them, her family had hit had times and I know it had crossed her sister’s mind.

These establishments had once been bed-and-breakfasts, if mother knew she would be crying. We had owned a small place near the center of Edinburgh, I remember her sitting outside on a rare hot summer day, her ancient rocking chair outside the entrance, her yarns on her lap as she knitted my soaks. I felt a small smile spread over my face, it had been just before the worst of her illness. Though I had always gotten hundreds of single soaks and never a pair. I always felt that losing the guest house is what finally made her lose it, she’d loved the of conversations people had brought her and losing that and made her mind deteriorate more. The doctors had told me it was dementia but we didn’t have the money to help her.  But then again it was said she hadn’t been right after my father had gotten back from the Boer War. I hadn’t known a childhood free from his drunken presence; beating on myself and mother. He had died when I was six but he had made sure to drill his vivid memories of his time on the battlefield, well that and my scar, he made sure I could never forget that. The smoke warmed my chest as it circled down my throat, blowing it back out my nose I dropped the finished cigarette and stumped it under my boot.

The little girl that had been so interested in Black Jack ran across in front of me, her chubby legs jumping over the puddles. She knocked on the door and it opened letting her into the red lamp whore house, at least she wouldn’t be cold tonight. Turning away I decided it was really time I was getting back to Black Jack and the other horses, Jim had gone out with a squadron earlier and he wouldn’t be back till tomorrow.

The moonlight caught my ring and it glinted in the dark night, I ran my thumb around my ring finger the feeling of the metal jewelry still foreign to me. Rose had wanted to get married as soon as I arrived back in Scotland. She had been more beautiful than when I had left her those many month before and as she threw I arms around me I could sense the jealous looks of my kinsmen. No one ever expected someone as gorgeous as her to be with someone whose face was taken up by such a grotesque scar. Thinking of home gave me the most painful heart ache much more raw than physical pain. Mother had held my hand and told me that work seemed to be taking up more time than it had before, she thought I was her brother but her love was still there.

Rose and I had decided on a small wedding just us and a few of Rose’s friends from the hospital, they seemed nice and they had congratulated us with a sense of sadness and bitterness it was hard to stay happy when you knew men were dyeing over here.

So many dead.

I had been unable to stay for long, they had called me back so fast I had felt like I would forget her again before I got to hold her one last time. I would tell she saw a change in me, a harder heart, I could see it in her eyes when she lay by my side. Though those few days had seen my soul begin to thaw they hadn’t been long enough for a complete change. I wouldn’t end up like my father. This war had dragged up the past so much I feared I would never be able to burry it again.

The town centre was silent apart from the occasional murmur from the tents. The horses were sleeping their legs locked, their heads leaned over the wooden fence. My tent was pitched up next to Black Jack’s pen. It was dark so I had to squint trying to make out the cobbled ground beneath my feet, I couldn’t fall over as I wasn’t meant to be out this late. I pulled open my tent and burrowed in taking of my boots but leaving on my clothes and soaks, it was too cold to change so I got underneath my sleeping bagged and hopped for a nightmare free night.

Dearest Rose,

My wife, you are quit right it does sound strange. Black Jack and I are waiting for our next transfer so it might be awhile till I send you another letter as things seem to be quite up in the air at the moment. I thought they were coming to their senses and would realise that a horse against a machine gun is pointless but what do I know our government must know what they are doing.

I do want to be back in Scotland, France has little to compare with the antiquity of our city. Once this war is over we can get a little house, have a family, maybe I can bring back Black Jack, who knows perhaps his previous owner will want him back.

Know that I am whishing to be home with you.

Yours forever,

Danny

Xxxxxxxxxx

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How do you like Danny's change in character? He's darker than before, still has hopeless but even Rose seems to not make him happy.

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