Excerpt of a Post War Romance (work in progress)

Excerpt Part 1

Dusk descended slowly over the trees to the west as Konrad left the barn and a day's worth of difficult work behind him. The elaborate set of walnut chairs for Mrs. Mikkelsen were varnished and drying in his workshop, the fourth project he'd completed for her in a year. His work was well sought after in the neighboring towns, but he was well aware that Elsa Mikkelsen was after more than his custom furniture. Having recently been widowed, she was rumored to be very wealthy and very forthcoming with affection to male visitors. Konrad was all but immune to her advances and didn't mind the extra work if she wanted to give him her money for a short glimpse of him upon delivery. His body ached and sawdust stuck to his glistening skin like snow on a frosted field, but he felt the solid sense of fulfillment he always did after a job was finished.

He came in through the kitchen door and seized the first dishcloth he could find and buried his sweating face and matted blonde hair in it. He realized there was no sound around him. Normally at this time Aleksi would be pacing the kitchen, humming an off-key tune, a trail of elegant scents and flavors following him as he cooked some elaborate new dinner. He peered over his towel to find the kitchen missing its bustling culinary genius, but a simmering pot of some kind of stew on the stove told Konrad that he'd been there and wouldn't be gone long.

He moved on through the house, listening for the man's oddly delicate footsteps, but heard none. The fireplace in the sitting room was cold, and he found himself smiling at the thought of Aleksi trying to light it with fumbling hands. He paused for a moment, wondering if he should light it himself before dark, what with autumn coming so quickly now, but the itching dust on his skin led him to the stairs toward the bathtub instead.

He moved down the hall in a familiar path, but found himself slowing just before the barely open door to Aleksi's bedroom. Through the small gap in the doorjamb, he could see the strange suitcase Aleksi carried with him often, but never wanted to discuss. He hadn't been inside many times since Aleksi had given up his pile of wood shavings in the barn and taken a room in the house, but a strange and sudden kind of curiosity made him reach out and push the door open.

As expected, it was empty of life, and, to his surprise, fairly empty in general, save for the aforementioned tattered leather suitcase on the floor at the foot of the small bed. In fact, almost everything in the room was some sort of hand-me-down from Konrad. He frowned as he looked around, but wasted little time before his sharp gaze fell back onto the suitcase.

He sat down on the floor beside it before his better judgment could stop him and carefully lifted it open.

The collection inside was small; a worn and faded button down shirt, something that looked like a soldier's felt cap, dogtags, a tin of hair wax with a comb, a shaving kit, a small photo of a house with an overgrown lawn, and a few official-looking pieces of paper mentioning a dishonorable discharge. He looked from one thing to the other, taking in what he realized were the small, fragile pieces of his housemate's past.

To another, it would have looked utterly pathetic, but Konrad carried an understanding like a knife carried in his gut of the meaning such small things could have. He began to close the lid, feeling a tingling of guilt crawl up his spine, when he noticed a torn corner of what once was a fine silk lining flopping down from the leather to reveal the corner of a piece of paper.

He stopped very suddenly, still, breathless and listening, a reflex leftover from earlier years. When he was certain Aleksi was still out of the house somewhere, he reached with nimble fingers into the lining and pulled out a stack of what looked to be letters, written in English, with a weathered photo of a young, dark-haired man on top.

He began to sift through them gently, his eyes scanning over what he came to realize were love letters, all addressed to "my sweetest love," and signed "with all my love and affection" by a young soldier named John. They were perfectly organized by date, and all seemed to have been sent during the war. He lifted one out of the pile, careful to remember exactly where it had been in the precise order, and he began to read:

My Sweetest Love,

As I write, my heart aches that it can't be near you, gazing into your magnificent eyes. I think of you constantly as this war wages on. You are with me in every foxhole I climb into, every beach I storm, and every bunk I spend these lonely nights in.

The poetic longing went on for almost a page before, with a start, he read Aleksi's name. He understood instantly why the letters were hidden and pushed back a searing panic that had begun to rise in his belly. He sat very still with the letter in his hands and his eyes went to the photo that had been hidden with it. He reached for it's frayed edges and turned it over, the same looping script scrawled across it in fading ink. "To my sweet Aleksi, may you think of me always."

Million questions went through Konrad's mind almost simultaneously. He was dizzy when he pulled the last letter from the pile with one simple thing tugging most adamantly at his brain; What happened to this man?

It was far shorter than the other letters, and more wrinkled and torn at the edges. The words in front of him were written in the same script, but the tone of them was devoid of their previous affection and replaced with a rigid formality that was practically palpable.

Aleksi,

I understand that this may come as a shock to you, but the time has come for you to grow out of your obsession with me. It isn't proper for another man to write to me the way that you do, and while I value our friendship, I must ask you not to contact me again. I will be marrying Lydia in the spring, as I promised her before the war, and I cannot continue to allow this behavior while we are married.

John

A dull and confusing sadness came over Konrad. He hadn't even completely processed it when he looked up to see Aleksi in the bedroom doorway. His face was filled with fear as he took in the scene before him and his mouth hung open, speechless. Konrad was frozen, swallowing hard to keep the tremendous storm of guilt down in the pit of his stomach where it belonged. He had violated quite possibly the only thing that Aleksi had ever kept private from him.

After a long silence, Aleksi was the first to speak, his eyes shining. "I...I'm sorry I didn't..." he began, choking on his own words. He gathered himself a little. "I'll leave as soon as I can pack everything." Konrad put down the letter carefully and got to his feet, hugging himself and letting the sawdust on his skin collect between his fingers.

"I have seen too many die trying to hide who they are," he said slowly, choosing his words cautiously. Aleksi moved into the room and began collecting the letters, a tear rolling down his cheek.

"I've never been very good at hiding who I am," he said without looking up from his work. Konrad backed away just a little and tried to find the right words to say.

"And that may be your finest quality Aleksi," he said, "but you should keep these better hidden...for your own safety."

Aleksi looked up at him with a desperate question in his watering eyes, his arms full of the beat up mementos that made up his life. Konrad met his eyes and words suddenly seemed to fail him. He turned to the doorway and stopped before leaving the room.

"I'm going to make a fire," he said over his shoulder. "It will be warmer to eat in the sitting room tonight." Aleksi stood, confused.

"You don't want me to leave?" he squeaked, but Konrad had already left and Aleksi could hear his heavy footsteps on the stairs.