When Lavenders grow

One Shot

For Daphne

When lavenders grow

Love's in my heart trying so to prove what your heart's knowing.

I'd' pluck a finger on a thorn, I'd' pluck a finger bleeding.

Red is my heart wounded and forlorn and your heart needing

My heart is sore until it joins in song

Wi' your heart mating...

The smell of lavender lied prominent in the air; the bees buzzed lazily from blossom to blossom, not being deterred by the woman who watched them closely. Lucile turned her head towards the sky, holding her straw hat with one of her hands while doing so. Her eyes squinted due the brightness ahead. A silent smile lingered on her lips like it always did at this time of the year.

She recalled their first true conversation in the garden of Madam Angellier's estate. When she closed her eyes it almost felt as if he was here, at her side, enjoying the sunrays just as she did. Six long, lonesome years had passed since then.

After she had left him forlorn at that checkpoint, she had joined the French resistance with Benoit. A time that had left deep scars in her soul- probably more than the longing and pain she felt for the man whom she loved, did. During the time of resistance, it had been easier for her to deal with the emptiness his absence left in her heart... but now, after driving the Germans out and returning to this very place it felt as if she never had left...

Two weeks ago, she received a letter with the news. Her mother in law had passed away. Lucile thought she was one of those persons whom death would spare. As if they had a deal with the devil himself and would live forever. She moved away a little, towards the stairs. Who would have ever guessed that Mrs Angellier would bequeath the estate to the quiet, once obedient Lucile? They had never much in common. Whereas Mrs Angellier preferred to be domineering and relentless towards others, Lucile always had ben understanding and compassionate to the sorrows of their tenants. And yet, it touched her deeply to know that the woman had not forgotten her. That in some way Lucile had been in her thoughts.

Leisurely she took the stairs up which lead to the back entrance of the house, pausing for a brief moment as she passed the white lilac shrub behind which they had taken shelter from her mother in law; after a shared dance... Lucile chuckled as she remembered them huddling there and his words spoken half in jest, half in bewilderment:

I'm supposed to be the one everyone is afraid of, but she could easily scare the plague away.

At those moments she had forgotten the war, the occupation- and the fact that he was enemy. At those moments they simply had been a man and a woman, bared to their very soul while their outer shells stood face to face without needing a word to say.

Lucile entered the small parlour and paced to the hall. Her feet took her to the room upstairs with the piano on their own accord. She marvelled at the fact that nothing had been changed- being sure that Mrs Angellier would burn down the room to its root as soon as their unwanted guest left and then re-decorate it.

A lump formed in her throat, her chest suddenly became tight. Walking to the piano she raptly caressed the even wood. No, he was not dead. He had told her what would happen after the war:We will see each other again. Not as a soldier; you will not even recognize me...

Lucile could feel that he was alive, she always had. And soon they would meet again.

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