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Lucille
For Lucille and her father, the departure of the enemy came as both good and bad news. For one, the Englishmen would be free to move, although discreetly, through the house. But the lack of a watchful German eye also meant that there would be more watch along the edges of the occupied area- right where they needed to be. In other words, it would be harder to escape.
After a few days more, Lucille had woken to a letter from the officer. It was surprisingly typed out in near perfect french. It stated that they were moving up the line onto the next village, and while there still would be patrols and such, they were moving from their homes.
The relief that filled Lucille was warm and fuzzy, and she felt like she could float. It was laughable, the fact that only days ago she had felt sick at the thought of being found out, but now they finally could clasp onto a slither of freedom, no matter how small.
The farm and villages productions of both food and any other supply, would still be monitored and controlled, the letter said. That meant they would still be left with little to survive on. Lucille felt as if it would be even less.
As soon as she had come in from feeding the chickens and had found out the news, she had ran quickly up the empty stairs and pulled herself through the entrance to the loft by moving the drawers. It was too exciting not to tell. As she was pulled through the hole, her dazzling beam let away her elation.
"Oh, I'm so happy!" She exclaimed, as she sat between Dawson and Tommy for the second time that day, after waking up that morning. "Guess."
"I don't know." Tommy shrugged, as he laughed at her child-like excitement.
"You bought pastries."
Lucille rolled her eyes, before pausing, her voice sounding obvious. "No, the Germans, they're leaving!"
"What? France?" Dawson shouted in question, but she cringed awkwardly in the confusion.
"Oh, sorry, no." She said quietly, before adding, "The village, the house."
Lucille stood to her feet as she twirled around just thinking about what this tiny amount of freedom could give the two soldiers. It could also benefit herself too.
"We can go to the Lavender fields and feed the chickens and you can meet my dog." She gasped at the thought, her voice twinkling as she rocked on her knees. "He doesn't like me very much. My father says it's because I'm like my mother and he misses her."
"That sounds good." Tommy laughed as she met his eyes, her light lashes fluttering quickly.
"Good? Sounds perfect." She squealed as she looked lastly to Dawson for confirmation. He smiled, nodding in acceptance.
"Thank you. I can't wait. I can't remember when I last had someone to do something with."
"You don't do things with anyone else?" Dawson asked. Neither of the two soldiers could ever imagine someone who they could want to be around more than the blonde french girl, especially given their circumstances.
"Well, Amélie has a family now and a lot of the people in the village like to stay away from the far."
"I'd love to." Tommy said quietly, his voice low as he interrupted he rather sad thoughts.
"I can't believe they're actually going!" Lucille said, while leaning forward and wrapping an arm around both of the boys each.
Tommy placed a hand on her lower back as she squeezed them tight in excitement. He breathed in as he chuckled, smelling the sweet and soft perfume of her lavender scented hair.
"But first you'll need a bath."
"No offence." She added, pulling back from the two, her face slightly twisted. She reached her hand out to Tommy, allowing him to grasp it as she pulled him upward, catching him with her other hand. "Come on, you can stretch your legs downstairs while I get it sorted."
"You're sure he's gone?" Dawson asked, and Lucille nodded.
"His things are packed up and gone, and the letter was left last night."
"Come on." She said again, as she looked back up at the two from where she stood on the landing below, watching as they peered down at her, unsure.
Tommy clattered down from the loft as he heard her screech in surprise. He sighed, seeing her father standing at the top of the stairs, Lucille's face red as she caught her breath back. With a raised brow, Tommy stood expectantly as he stared at the older man.
Lucille's hand was clenched on his wrist firmly. Perhaps she thought he would do something, had he likely been provoked. Or, perhaps she was scared her father would resent him so much that he was at risk. Whatever it was, Lucille's hand remained on his wrist as the tension dissolved, with Dawson breaking the lengthy silence with the thud of his feet meeting the landing. He glanced down, feeling as her soft touch slipped to envelope his hand in hers, giving it a light squeeze as his breathing slowed.
"I think we should reintroduce ourselves." Her father finally said, and Lucille's shoulders dropped in relief.
Tommy watched as the man brought his hand up, holding it out for him to shake. He eyed it carefully. He felt another squeeze to the hand and glanced down to Lucille, seeing her give him a small and encouraging smile. Hesitantly, he reached forward and shook.
"Maron." The man said, with a short nod, as he glanced to his daughter, as if for approval, turning back, after seeing a wide smile as enough.
"Tommy Shelby." He replied, nodding back.
"Jack Dawson." The blond boy piped in, earning a small laugh.
Lucille's hand dropped from Tommy's, as she felt her father's eyes landing between the two. She coughed, stepping away and heading toward the bath room.
"I'll run a bath." She muttered quietly, disappearing behind a door.
Both Tommy and Dawson could feel his eyes on them. They were squinted, trying to pick them apart. Maron sighed.
"So where are you both from?" Like Lucille, he spoke in English, although it was broken and slightly slow. The rather mundane question came as a surprise. They wondered whether he was being genuine.
"London." Dawson said first.
"Birmingham." Tommy said after. Maron nodded absentmindedly.
"My sister, she went to live in London." He said, his hands were in his pockets and he refrained from looking at either of them.
"She did?"
Maron nodded. "With her husband."
"Is she still there?" Dawson asked, and Maron coughed over him, almost in warning.
"I wouldn't know."
Lucille interrupted them with her light footsteps as she opened the bathroom door wide. Behind her, an old tub was filled to the brim, the water still with ripples. Even further into the room, there was a fireplace, lit up and with large flames that radiated its heat far across the large space.
She smiled awkwardly, waiting for someone to move. Her father straightened, shaking his head before turning with a nod to leave without another word said. The three waited a moment before finally speaking.
"He's not that bad." Lucille tried to reassure them, though she wasn't sure if it was more herself who she wanted to encourage.
Since it's been agars since the last chapter, another one will be out in less than half an hour. Also I will end up rewriting this, I don't really like it. x
