Lies Told In Silence (20 page)

Chapter 27

May 1917

My darling Lise,

I have finally found Guy in a village called Vailly-sur-Aisne. It seems that he lost his identification tag and has been unconscious most of the time. The doctor says he has a severe case of pleurisy, which causes chest pain and shortness of breath. He also has a fever and other complications. His condition is stable.

I must return to my duties; however, I have arranged for Guy’s transfer to a hospital outside Paris. I will write again soon with more information.

My love to you and the children,

Henri

Lise burst into tears, clutching the letter to her lips as if tran
sporting a kiss to her wounded son. The sudden release of tension made her feel faint, so she sat for a while, oblivious to the fresh scent of rain-soaked earth and the stuttering chirps of nesting sparrows. The dread of losing another child drained away. They had been spared.

“I will travel to Paris as soon as Papa confirms where Guy will be.” Lise wiped her hands then sat down with her children at the kitchen table, plates steaming with sausage, spring asparagus and
boiled potatoes.

“We can look after the house,” said Helene.

“Perhaps we should go with you,” said Jean at the very same time.

“Let’s see what Papa thinks. It may be simpler for me to travel on my own, and besides, there’s no telling how long Guy will need me.”

Several days later, Lise stood at the window of her bedroom watching an early morning mist separate like unravelling ribbons, revealing a soothing roll of landscape that reminded her each day of Henri. She had been up for hours, had barely slept, in fact, and two suitcases lay open on the bed waiting for last minute additions of toiletries and silk lingerie. She turned from the window at a knock on the door.

“Ready, Maman?” Jean said.

“Just these few things.” Lise placed two bundles in her cases, closed the lids and snapped the locks shut. “Is Helene ready?” she said, looking in the mirror while she secured a wide-brimmed hat with a long black pin.

“Yes, and Gaston is here.” Jean shook his head, grinning. “It’s a miracle he can keep the Tonneau running.”

“Tante Camille would have been proud.”

On the way to the station, Lise reiterated a series of instru
ctions to her daughter, concluding with a caution to keep her eye on Jean, “You know the kind of trouble he can get up to,” she said.

“Don’t worry, Maman. We’ll be fine.”

“I’m also worried about you. Madame Suras told me you met a soldier at the café several days ago. If I recall, that was the day you told me you were seeing Germaine.”

“I’m sorry, Maman. I did see Germaine, but I also spoke with one of the soldiers I met at the dance. He . . . he asked if he could meet me again.”

“I see. Madame Suras implied it was a
tête à tête
.” Lise wondered what else to say. Surely a little romance would not hurt Helene. Stuck as they were in this northern corner of France amidst wartime, her daughter had few friends and little social life. Henri would not approve, of course. Lise loved her husband but was well aware he had fixed ideas about bringing the right families together in marriage.
He doesn’t need to know
, she thought.
I’m sure the Canadians will be gone soon
.

“I don’t want to hear any gossip when I return.”

“We were just talking, Maman. And he walked me home, just like a proper gentleman would do.”

* * *

At the station, Helene hugged her mother, whose thin frame and hollow eyes made her look older than her years. “Give our love to Guy,” she said. “And to Papa.”

Having agreed to take over Maman’s duties at the hospital, Helene was pleased for the ride into town that morning. According to her mother, Madame Lalonde would instruct her when she got to the hospital. She could not imagine that writing letters for soldiers required much instruction, but she kept this opinion to herself. Having a reason to be in Beaufort several days a week meant more opportunities to see Edward.

When her mother’s plans had become clear, Helene sent a note to Edward via Germaine and received a response almost immediately that he would look for her at the hospital. The thought that she might see him today flickered in her belly like a hummingbird tasting flowers.

As she finished the first letter, Helene realized how difficult it must have been for her mother to attend the hospital each week, wondering whether Guy was safe. The soldier’s words were full of love for his family, assurances about his well-being and the good care of the doctors and nurses, pride in his country and fellow soldiers. The letter would ease their worries, though the soldier said nothing of his wounded leg, which the doctor was still hoping to save.

“I’ll tell them if it happens,” he said with a shrug.

By the end of the day, her fingers cramped and head pulsing with dull pain, Helene had written seven letters, which she folded, inserted into envelopes then carefully addressed based on a master
list maintained by Madame Lalonde, full of strange names like Winnipeg, Couchiching, Kamloops and Oshawa. Thinking of the globe that stood in her father’s study, she tried to recall the outline of Canada and wondered whether any of these cities was close to where Edward lived.

He was waiting for her just outside the hospital entrance when she emerged, shading her eyes against sudden brightness.

“You came,” she said.

“You’re very hard to resist.”

“Shall we go to the café?”

“Let’s walk somewhere. Then we can be alone.”

She thought for a moment. “How much time do you have?”

“Have to be back before eight.”

Helene knew where she would take him, but first, she needed different clothes. She led the way from the hospital through the main square and onto the road heading towards Tante Camille’s.

“You’re moving quickly.” Edward said as they passed the church on the outskirts of Beaufort.

“There’s something I want you to see, but we’ll need to hurry if you have to be back at eight.” She slowed for a moment and turned in his direction. “We don’t have to do this. Would you prefer to go somewhere else?”

Edward laughed. “Hard to answer that since I don’t know where you’re taking me.”

“I think you’ll be very interested.”

With the heat of midafternoon, they encountered few people on the road as they strode along, Edward matching his steps to her athletic gait. Helene thought nothing of walking quickly, having spent so much time in Jean’s company, scrambling through the woods and fields and climbing the hills.

As they rounded a bend in the road, Edward pointed to a house in the distance. “Is that where we met?”

Helene smiled at him and nodded. “That’s Monsieur Garnier’s farm. About fifteen more minutes to our house,” she said.

Edward raised his eyebrows. “That’s our destination?”

“No. Just a quick stop. Be patient. It’s a surprise.”

Helene felt awkward when they arrived at Tante Camille’s, uncertain whether to invite him inside. No one was home, and she was very sure her mother would disapprove, so she was relieved when Edward suggested that he explore the garden while she changed. When she reappeared dressed in wool trousers and a belt cinched at her waist, she saw a smile crinkle the corners of his eyes.

“Trousers?” he said.

“These belonged to my brother. He outgrew them last year, so now I wear them. They are useful.” Helene grinned, knowing she had surprised him. “Are you ready?”

Edward nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

Helene shook her head. “I’m not a madame, I’m a mademoiselle. Unless you think I run a brothel.”

The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them, and Helene clamped her lips together in embarrassment. What would he think of her?

Edward roared with laughter. “I’ve never met anyone like you.”

Helene turned her back on him and marched off across the front yard towards the fence on the west side of the house. Edward followed, still chuckling.

* * *

“Come and see.”

Helene beckoned to Edward, who approached and stood by her side, looking down at the vast plain spread out below with the ridge in the distance. She watched in dismay as his face crumpled and drained of colour, his eyes staring straight ahead without seeming to see anything.

“Edward? Are you all right?”

He did not reply. She reached out her hand and he grabbed it like a lifeline thrown to a drowning sailor.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I wanted to show you what Jean and I discovered last January. It did not occur to me . . .”

Her voice trailed off as she thought of the young men she wrote letters for amidst rows and rows of bandaged soldiers, harried doctors, nurses huddled by curtained beds and priests hurrying with purpose.
How could I be so stupid?

Edward breathed in slowly through his nose then exhaled through his mouth. Helene remained silent holding his hand. When she thought he had more colour in his cheeks, she drew him away from the edge. His eyes were still lost.

“I am so sorry,” she said one more time.

“It was horrible,” he said, more to himself than to her. “Fra
ntic. Men wounded or dead all around me. And I couldn’t stop to help them. I was carrying a message that had to get through or else many more would die. I just kept running along the German trenches, trying to reach the battalion I was looking for, dodging debris, splashing through pools of mud mixed with blood, bullets whizzing overhead.” He clenched his fists and closed his eyes. “I didn’t make it, and they died. Hundreds of them. It was my fault, really. They died because I took a risk.” Pain flooded Edward’s face and his head slumped forward.

Helene waited, afraid to say the wrong thing.

“I was running out of time, so I went above ground to go faster.” He looked off into the distance again. “The sun was suddenly bright, and I could hardly see. And so much noise. That’s all I remember.”

“What happened?”

“I was hit by a German bullet. Knocked unconscious. Barely escaped death. My helmet saved me. Before I met you, I was in hospital.”

“Are you better now?”

“Mm hmm. The doctor said I was. Sometimes I get dizzy.”

Helene still held Edward’s hand, but when she began to release her grip,
he put his other hand on hers.

“Don’t let go.”

He pulled her to a large flat rock where they sat, their backs against the trunk of a gnarled oak tree, their shoulders touching.

“Did you watch?”

Helene nodded. “It was terrifying. Unbelievable. But we only stayed an hour. We didn’t want Maman to know. Unfortunately, she was up when we got back. And very upset.” She grimaced, recalling the sting of her mother’s slap. “Then we spent the rest of the day in our house, listening to explosions and planes buzzing overhead. I think waiting was more frightening than watching. I haven’t been up here since.”

“We prepared for months, but you would have seen that.”

Helene nodded but said nothing. Instinct told her to remain silent.

“Big subways went from the front lines as far back as Neuville St. Vaast. When we first began, we uncovered dead bodies everywhere we dug. The stench was horrible.” He looked at her, and she nodded for him to continue. “I lead a signals team. It was our job to lay the communications grid for battle conditions. But we also helped with night raids, stringing wire during an advance so we could report back. Dangerous stuff. As the weeks went by, we worked harder and harder. Some days, I didn’t sleep at all. We rotated in and out of the front lines but never really got any rest. I learned to freeze at the burst of a flare in no man’s land. I—”

“Why did you freeze?”

“As long as we stayed still until the flare faded, the machine gunners couldn’t tell we were there.”

Helene tried to imagine standing still knowing that German soldiers were poised to shoot at anything that moved. Even the slightest twitch might be deadly. How could they do it time and time again?

“What was it like underground?” Helene and Jean had watched men enter the tunnels and speculated on where the tunnels went, but she had not thought of the reality of being in them.

“Pretty grim. I’m over six feet, so I had to duck going through certain sections. Hit my head a lot. They’re about three feet wide and more than twenty feet underground. We had gasoline generators to provide electricity and telephone communications. Some tunnels even had small railroads to carry supplies. The sounds of war disappeared when we were underground. But you could feel the earth trembling when shells landed. It was surreal. Places to eat and sleep, doctors’ quarters, ammunition stores, everything.”

“Can I ask another question?” He nodded. “What did you do when it started?”

“The waiting was terrible.” Edward did not look at her but stared into the distance. “We stood for hours, crammed together like sardines. Each soldier knew his role and the roles of others so they could take over if . . . if necessary. Plans and targets were detailed to the hour, sometimes even to the minute. Signals has seven different ways to communicate—runner, semaphore, pigeon, aircraft, telephone, wireless and buzzer. My unit focused on telephones and used runners as backup. Once it began, we were constantly on the move.”