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Something In Her Voice
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Something In Her Voice |
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Mysteria 
since 2001-03-07
Posts 18328British Columbia, Canada 
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 © Mysteria 03/2002 With winter slipping gently into spring, I started to form a few ideas about getting my husband, Howard to take a special kind of vacation; such as choosing a spot outside the country where even the language would not remind him continually of the interminable court procedures, the train of which lately had almost brought him to a nervous breakdown. I should explain that Howard is a lawyer, and after a spell in the army a few years ago now, had joined his father’s firm, which was well established in Vancouver. His father, once the head of the firm had died shortly after the war and Howard though still recovering from the repercussions that war had on him, assumed his role. Howard had been working excessively hard during the past months, while handling the Wainwright case, which incidentally had made him famous all over the city. His brilliant defense had practically saved a great family name from certain ruin and perhaps extinction. Now I wanted to get him away from it all to some place where he could relax and not suffer any intrusions of any sort. I found the solution one day when a friend of mine was talking and describing some little French fishing village where she and her husband had stayed a year before. Untouched by tourists as yet, it sounded just like the sort of place for recuperation, and my husband needed the rest of body and mind. It had been wonderful, my friend explained; it had plenty of atmospheres of its own and was run by a woman who had lost her husband, and her daughter. The novelty of foreign life in the small population mainly concerned in their fishing activities, with unspoiled scenery and rugged coastal background appealed to me. It appeared to be ideal and so I decided right away that I would look no further. I took the address and sent a letter off immediately to Madame Lebeau as instructed by my friend. In a few days it was all arranged and Howard, quite meekly for him, agreed with my plans. “The Wainwright case is all wound up now, “ he aid, as we sat drinking tea in the living room after dinner. “Also I really intended to take a few weeks off, so what you have in mind is perfectly fine. I’ll leave everything to you. Where is it exactly, dear? “It’s on the French coast. A little fishing village called St. Jean. Of course, Howard, perhaps you are somewhat in that vicinity perhaps during your army days, so you might know of it.” “I probably wouldn’t remember it, the name anyhow”, he said shaking his head. “Besides, I had shellshock and for a long while after coming home I couldn’t remember anything or anybody. That old war seems a long time ago now. So Howard left the arrangements to me while he leaned up the details at his office and left thing in charge of his junior partner and his secretary. Finally the day came for our change of scenery. We hut up our house and took a taxi to the station for a train to connect with the boat train. Everything went well and upon researching Galais we disembarked and caught the local train along the coast of St. Jean, where we arrived at the expected time. Madame Lebaeau had sent an ancient car the station to met us, driven by her general factotum, who served drinks in the little bar of her pension if Madam was not at hand. He also did other work around the place that normally would have been undertaken by her husband, if she had had one still. Later, we learned that her husband had been killed while resisting a round of men scheduled for forced labour in Germany. True to the French woman’s character she had carried on to the best of her ability in keeping the business going, and now, with the help of her daughter, she was evidently conducting a thriving business. On our arrival at the pension, Madam Lebeau was awaiting us, and after telling her odd job man to take our bags upstairs, she directed us to the lounge and invited her daughter to meet us. Pauline, her name was, and she was as unlike her mother a sit was possible to be. Madam was very dark and small with traces of Latin beauty, while Pauline was tall and fair, and almost Anglo-Saxon in appearance with fair hair and blue eyes. Perhaps her father had some Viking strain on his side of the family I mused. Howard attempted a phrase or two in his rusty French but Mme. Lebeau smiled faintly and waved her hand towards her daughter. Madame rarely spoke to us and then just to wish us good morning or good night, and that was always in French. Pauline spoke excellent English however and must have been an asset to her mother’s business. It appeared that she regularly attended the local convent school in the mornings now, and the resident sisters were encouraging her study of English, as she seemed to have such a natural bent for it. In the late evenings when we sat in the lounge, Pauline would join us and ask us how we had enjoyed our day and venture questions about our daily trips. She would often ask Howard questions about her English homework and I could see that Howard enjoyed this very much. I would idly listen to them while presumably reading, and more than once it occurred to me how like Howard’s niece, Jenny, this girl appeared. They were both about the same age, seventeen or so. The same fair hair, blue eyes and in some ways, the similarity in their features was incredible. All of Howard’s family was fair. I think I must have been the only dark head introduced to the family stock. We have no children of our own, so I don’t know what they would have been like if we had conceived any. Blonde, I am sure, however, so dominant would have been my husband’s family strain. We lazed the summery months away without a care in the world. Howard completely lost his strained attitude and on our walks together along the cliffs or to a neighbouring village, he became so active in his zest for life that I took much pride in having arranged this venture. “You know dear, “ he would often remark, “this is the almost like a second honeymoon. I’m very happy here. I don’t know when I have felt so great, just what the doctor ordered, don’t’ you think, you being the doctor of course?” And so we continued our carefree existence, leisurely doing just what we fancied every day, but this state of bliss would have to end, and I tried not to think that we had to go back. Once I asked Howard if he remembered any part of this French countryside and coastal areas. “No,” he had answered meditatively, “but I must have been here, of that I am quite certain. At least, somewhere in these surroundings, shortly before I was evacuated, I think”. He paused for a few moments, and then continued in a sort of puzzled way. “Where is a lengthy period, about eight ten months I was told later, that I did know where I belonged, nor where I had come from. I was sure of my name, or perhaps that was continuously being drummed into me. A simple case of lost memory, of course, and it happened to many. Wounded stripped naked by either the hands of men or by stress and storm of nature. I never found out. But somebody cared for me over many months according to the records compiled about my case. I was kept hidden from the enemy. Eventually I must have been traced by the authorities and airlifted by the help of the underground. I could not remember that part of my life no matter how I tried, nor what happened just prior to it. Just some kind of assurance that I had been in kind and capable hands, that I had been very, very ill, and that somebody had helped me out of my pain, which somehow I knew had been severe.” “There’s no one here that has recognized you, Howard, is there? But then you have changed a bit in a dozen years or so.” “No, but of course I must have been very well hidden for the matter of everybody’s security at that time. “His arms came round my shoulders. “I love you Catherine, he murmured softly, “Let’s leave it as it is”. A sob rose in my throat and I was unable to say any words but he knew as I responded to his embrace just how much I loved him too. There was sadness in the air, something I wanted to catch more of then just the essence, and yet something that I felt also would be better left well enough alone. We rose from our favorite view spot atop the Cliffside, and hand in hand, strolled back to our pension. At last the day came when we had to return to Vancouver. Pauline was firmly attached to both of us by that time, and almost heart broken to see us go. Her English had improved almost to perfection, and the sisters in the convent considered her very fortunate to have had such excellent practice. We invited her to visit us whenever it was convenient for her to leave maman for a while. Madame would never leave herself we knew that. “Don’t forget to put some nice stamps on the envelopes when you write to us,” quipped Howard, who by the way is an ardent tamp collector. Our account for the vacation having been settled in the office, Pauline with her mother stood waiting to see us off in the same old museum piece by which we had first been met and, which fortunately was still in running order. “au revoir, Madame et Monsieur,”, said Madam Lebeau in her usual quick way, adding what sounded to me like “Monsieur le Lieutenant” in a throaty and unsteady tone, so different to her usual one. “Au revoir, revenex bientot.” “Come back soon”, called Pauline as well. Shortly afterwards, as my husband sat staring straight ahead as the train got in motion, I asked, “Did Madam Lebeau call you lieutenant, Howard?” And after what seemed a terribly long time, but must really only have been seconds, he placed his arms around my shivering shoulders. “Jut for the space of a small amount, my dear, I thought I was remembering a little.” Then he shook his head sadly. But with a bright smile turning his face close to mine, came the added whisper. “It was just in a very small way, something, perhaps in the tone of her voice.” ~* Women have got to make the world safe for men since men have made it so darned unsafe for women *~ Lady Nancy Astor [This message has been edited by Mysteria (03-23-2002 02:19 AM).] |
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Sunshine
Administrator
Member Empyrean
since 1999-06-25
Posts 63354Listening to every heart |
Ah, there's no end to this....surely the memories will bring back a little something more for us to read about... |
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Christopher
Moderator
Member Rara Avis
since 1999-08-02
Posts 8296Purgatorial Incarceration |
very interesting... i loved the trailing allusion that is the hallmark of any good hollywood movie - rife with potenial sequels, but an ending in and of itself. very nice here Sharon... i liked this. a wee bit o' mystery touched it all off. C |
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Martie
Moderator
Member Empyrean
since 1999-09-21
Posts 28049California |
Wonderful, Sharon! I was totally captivated..such an interesting read and yes, more please! |
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