“Nice to meet you, Auguste Pettit. We’re down a stable hand since Martin left for the Army. Are you good with horses? You look strong as an ox, so I’m sure the labor won’t be a problem.”
“Yes,” Auguste replied while he waited for the pain in his feet to subside. “I’ve been told I have a natural way with horses. I learned about training them a few years back at...” his voice trailed off as he realized he couldn’t exactly tell the little Frenchman he had learned about horse training at the German military camp. “I learned about caring for and training horses after leaving the orphanage.” Auguste let out a sigh of relief when he saw that the old man never flinched at his brief pause over the origin of his horse skills. It isn’t a lie, Auguste thought to himself, remembering his vow to avoid lying to and hurting more people.
“Wonderful!” the old man said as he laughed a hearty laugh and threw his hands up in the air. “We need a man to help with barn chores. We need the hay cut, baled and loaded. The stalls need to be cleaned daily, and the horses turned out into the fields every morning and brought in at night. Many of them need daily exercise, so a good run through the fields is mandatory. Raulf is the head groom, and he primarily handles grooming and keeping our tack and supplies in tip top shape. I’m sure he’ll have plenty of odds and ends for you to do. There’s a cabin you can live in that’s yours, if you want it. It’s included in the pay of twenty francs per week.”
Twenty francs per week was an enormous amount of pay to Auguste. With money like that he could save up and perhaps buy his own home someday. The thought of having a house to call his own excited him. He hoped one day he could have a girl like the one in the picture to come home to every night. Auguste found himself stunned at his new thoughts. Up until the last few months, he had never even considered a life outside of the military. Now he was planning a house and a wife. He began to wonder if he had hit his head in the jump off the cliff that night seven months back.
“Well?” the man asked as Auguste had not yet responded.
“Sorry, sir. I’ll need to think on it. I’m not sure if this place is too...” he paused and looked at the mansion behind him. “Fancy for me. How is the owner? Is he kind, or is he a pompous arse? I’m not looking to muck out stalls in a tuxedo.”
Henri snorted and slapped his thigh. “Now that would be something to see! I can tell you, I think the owner of this estate is quite a pleasant man.” He raised a brow. “At least I find him that way.”
“Is that so?”
“That’s so.”
“It is an awful lot of money. Perhaps I could meet him before I decide?”
Henri stuck out his hand and stared at Auguste who responded by furrowing his brow.
“Nice to meet you. I’m Henri Barouche, owner of Chateau Cheval.” He waggled his furry brows, and a grin stretched across his face.
“I’m s-so sorry...” Auguste stuttered. “I had no idea.” It never occurred to him the owner of such a lavish estate could be the goofy man kicking his feet in the stream at his side.
“There is no need to apologize. I can see why you’d think I might be an arrogant arse. But I can assure you, my staff and my horses are treated better than anywhere else you’ll find. What do you say, Auguste? Are you in?”
“Yes, Sir!” Auguste said, clasping his hand and shaking it hard. “Thank you, Sir. I would be thrilled to accept the position.”
“Excellent! Take your horse up the drive and you can’t miss the stables on your left. Go and find Raulf and tell him Henri sent you. Welcome to the family, Auguste! Now, wish me luck because I’m gonna try to catch me a fish.” And with that Henri picked up his fishing pole and plucked a little worm from the bucket on his left. He pushed the hook through the wiggling creature and cast it into the cold water.
“Thank you for the opportunity,” Auguste said as he rose to his feet. “And good luck.” They exchanged a smile and Auguste grabbed his boots and headed off to grab Beau, go to meet Raulf, and get started in his new life at Chateau Cheval.
CHAPTER TEN
AUGUSTE FLUNG THE LAST of the straw from the wheelbarrow into the stall. A long swipe from the back of his hand whisked away the sweat from his brow. He lay the pitchfork up against the wall and started pushing the wheelbarrow back to the tool shed out behind the stables.
“Good morning, Auguste!” He stopped when he heard Henri’s voice echo through the barn.
“Good morning, Henri,” he shouted back, turning to greet the man he now considered a friend.
“Wait up!” Henri said, shuffling down the aisle to catch up. Pausing when he reached Le Vent’s stall, he lifted his hand to stroke the soft nose of the prized stallion. “How is my boy today? Is he behaving for you?”
“He’s been an absolute gentleman. I just brought him in from his morning turnout,” Auguste replied, joining Henri in front of the stall. The black stallion snorted and pawed. Even a morning run wasn’t enough to tire out this incredible athlete. His name meant “The Wind” and he lived up to it by winning the French Grand Steeple-Chase de Paris an unprecedented three times.
Auguste found out from Raulf shortly after his arrival two months ago, these weren’t just any Thoroughbred horses. These were some of the finest horses in all of France. Decades of Henri’s careful breeding had produced a fleet of champion steeplechasers. Each one was valued at more than the average Frenchman’s house, and this one was rumored to be one of the most valuable horses in all of France.
“You itching to race, boy?” Henri asked, calming the excited animal with his voice. “Soon the war will be over and you can get out and show those nags what a champion looks like.” He smiled and turned to Auguste. “You just wait, Auguste. You’ve never seen anything like it when this horse gets out in front of the crowd.”
“I’m looking forward to the day.” Auguste reached through the bars and stroked the stallion’s muscular neck. The Grand Steeple-Chase de Paris had been suspended for several years since the war broke out, and Henri itched to run him again. By the fiery look in the horse’s eye, he was waiting for the return of the race as well. This horse, he found out through their late-night talks over the past few months, was Henri’s greatest accomplishment and his most prized possession.
With his two daughters away, a lonely Henri invited Raulf and Auguste in every night. The older man would talk of his horses and the group would sit by the fire and share stories. Auguste did more listening than talking, and when the conversation turned to his past he could quickly distract Henri by asking more about Le Vent. He could talk about his prized stud for decades. He kept details about his past to a minimum as he hated lying to Henri. Auguste told Henri he’d been raised in an orphanage in France and after leaving, found work at a local farm. When asked why he wasn’t conscripted in the military, he gave them a story about serving briefly before being sent home with an injury that kept him from returning. Knowing what soldiers from this war endured, no one pressed for details when they weren’t offered and he was grateful they let the subject pass without further inquisition.
Henri turned away from his stallion and placed a firm hand on Auguste’s shoulder. “Auguste, you have been a wonderful addition. You work hard. My barn has never been cleaner, and my horses never happier. And even Raulf likes you. That’s saying a lot! I have thoroughly enjoyed our nights drinking by the fire, but I need to tell you things will be changing around here.”
Auguste’s heart plummeted like a rock tossed into the ocean. This had been too good to be true. A warm bed in a cabin all his own. A job he loved. A boss who treated him like a son. A beautiful property perfect for exercising the horses. Bracing for the words that would end his time here, Auguste took a deep breath.
People like him didn’t get happy endings.
“My girls are coming home!” Henri exclaimed, and his blue eyes lit up with excitement. “As much as I love having you in the house every night, my girls would have my neck if they knew I was drinking wine and whiskey until three in the morning with
you and Raulf every night! That will have to be our little secret.” Henri winked and squeezed Auguste’s shoulder.
A wave of relief swept over Auguste at the reprieve. “Our secret indeed,” he responded with a smile.
“Good man,” Henri said. “Now I need to go bribe the rest of the staff to keep their yappers shut.”
Auguste chuckled, and Henri walked off down the aisle. When he disappeared around the corner, Auguste leaned back against the metal gate of the stall door. He was still safe here. Le Vent snorted his protest and Auguste shoved off, giving the ornery stallion a nod before returning to his morning chores.
With his chores done, and the horses tended to, Auguste walked across the fields under the setting sun to his little cabin in the woods. Upon entering, he glanced around the one-room cabin. It was just beginning to feel like home. It was modest with only a table and chairs, a fireplace and a bed, but it was his cabin and he was grateful to have it. It was a far cry from the holes he’d slept in for weeks on end in the trenches.
Auguste fell back on the bed and kicked off his new, properly fitted, brown boots. As he lay there, he reached down his left hand and slipped it under the mattress. He pulled out the envelope, now worn from repeatedly opening it, and slid out the picture he looked at every night before bed. The picture of her.
He’d gone into town dozens of times on errands, each time always looking for her. The faces from town became familiar, but each time he returned the one face he wanted to find still eluded him. While he searched for her, he also searched for familiar faces from the war. No doubt word of his treason had spread between the thousands of soldiers who could recognize him and it was only a matter of time before someone caught him and shattered the happy little life he’d made here.
Many times he considered coming out of hiding and returning to the colonel in Germany. But the colonel made it clear failure wouldn’t be well received. And even if the colonel understood that his cover had been blown by another agent, Auguste knew they would send him into battle against the French. The thought of killing his friends... of killing Jean-Luc. No, he couldn’t do it. He wouldn’t fight the French. Laying low until the war ended was the only option.
Auguste slept well that night. On the rare night he didn’t have nightmares of men screaming and bleeding in his arms, he considered it a victory. When he closed his eyes, he often saw the face of the young boy in the woods. He remembered his soft brown curls, the terrified look in his mocha eyes, and the scar he’d noticed on his cheek. Every night he tried to shake the memory of the boy but something about him plagued Auguste. It felt like he was haunting him, determined to remain in his mind until he fulfilled his promise and delivered the letter.
The next morning he got dressed and headed down to the stables. Like every morning, his day started with turning out horses and mucking stalls before his favorite part... taking them out for a ride. Part of his job was to keep the horses fit while Henri waited for the races to start up again and they could begin real training. The only horse he wasn’t allowed to ride was Le Vent. Only his jockey, who’d left for Ireland to race until the war ended, and Raulf were permitted on the fiery stallion. Anyone else who tried to mount him ended up with a mouth full of dirt and a view of his hooves while he galloped away.
Auguste arrived in the barn to find Raulf taking out the last of the horses. He led a black mare named Chantal, dancing at his side. The opinionated mare had become Auguste’s favorite. She was fiery and hot with a wild streak, and an attitude that made him smile when she challenged him... which she did daily. The days she cooperated and let him ride were some of his best days on the farm. The swift mare reached speeds that set even his combat-hardened heart racing. Chantal was the fastest horse on the property, only second to her sire, Le Vent. Henri had bred the mare for his daughter, Isabelle. If she were anything like her horse, Auguste looked forward to the pleasure of meeting her.
“Good morning, Raulf!” Auguste said, patting Chantal on the neck as he led her past.
“Good morning, Auguste. Did Henri tell you our days of drinking in the main house are over?”
“Indeed he did. I will miss our long nights, but the hangovers not as much!”
“Don’t be silly.” Raulf snorted. “You and I can just move the party to my loft above the barn. I’m quite sure Henri will supply us with wine and sneak out to join us on occasion when the girls have gone to bed.”
Auguste chuckled and nodded. Raulf’s stern demeanor had softened over his months here, and he now considered him more of a friend than an overseer. With Raulf’s gruff manner and dry sense of humor, it took Auguste awhile to figure the man out. Eventually he learned that when Raulf gave him a hard time, he was usually joking and enjoyed a good teasing. His new friendship with Raulf made him miss his friendship with Jean-Luc. He found himself often wishing that somehow Jean-Luc could be part of his life here.
“Henri has something he needs you to do for him today. When you’re done mucking out stalls, you’ll need to run to town and pick up some summer dresses he had made for his daughters at the dress store. They’ll be returning today and he’d like them back here by early afternoon to surprise them.”
“Absolutely. I’ll hurry along and hit the road.” Auguste grabbed a pitchfork and got to work.
After mucking the stalls he tacked up Beau and mounted up for his ride to town, two miles away. Beau headed down the road to town and stepped through the large puddles an early morning storm had made along the road. When he rounded the corner that marked his halfway point to town, Auguste saw a carriage stuck in the mud up ahead. He cocked his head when he got closer and noticed the absence of a horse. Someone had tried to ride through the flooded road and the carriage was buried a foot deep. He could tell by the hoof prints leading back to town that someone had unhooked the horse and ridden him back for help.
When he passed by the carriage he thought abandoned, he heard the voices of two women whispering inside. He pulled Beau to a halt in front of the mud and looked toward the covered door of the carriage.
“Is everyone okay in there?” he asked, and the whispers turned to shushing.
A moment later the curtains pulled back and the head of a girl popped out. Large, blue eyes filled with worry blinked at him from beneath a twisted pile of auburn curls that reminded him of a chestnut mare back at the farm.
“No need to fear,” he said. “Are you girls all right in there? Where is your horse and your driver?”
“We got stuck,” the girl answered. “Our driver unhooked the horse and rode him back to town to get help. We’ve been waiting here for over an hour and we’re starting to fear he isn’t returning.”
“I see,” Auguste said as Beau pawed his impatience. “Where are you girls heading? Perhaps I could give you a ride on Beau or, if you would like, I could ride into town and get help myself.”
“We are heading home to Chateau Cheval,” she answered. “As much as we would love to take a ride, our father would have our heads if we were to jump on a horse with a total stranger.”
Auguste smiled. These must be Henri’s two daughters trapped inside.
“There is no need to fear me. I’m not actually a stranger. My name is Auguste and I work for your father, Henri at the stables. You must be Alexis and Isabelle. Please, Beau can easily carry the two of you back to the farm. I can walk and lead you. Once you are safely there, I will ride back and take care of retrieving your things.”
A contemplative look puckered her lips and she disappeared behind the curtain. Hushed tones from the girls snuck out, and he waited for their decision. After a few moments her head popped back out.
“Okay, we would love a ride. However, we are stuck in the mud here and can’t get out or we’ll sink and ruin our dresses and shoes.”
“I see.” Auguste pressed his lips together while he thought. “How about this? I will ride Beau over to you and you can climb on. I’ll ride you to dry ground and let you down. Then I will ride back and get your sist
er. Then the two of you can ride Beau back together while I lead him. How does that sound?”
Her head ducked behind the curtain again. More hushed whispering and Auguste smiled at the situation. As quickly as it had disappeared, the red head popped out of the curtains again.
“That would be perfect.”
“Hold tight. I’m on my way,” Auguste said, his deep voice dropping an extra octave.
With a squeeze of his legs he encouraged Beau into the mud. The gelding’s legs sunk into the mud up past his fetlocks, but the reliable horse pushed on as the mud sucked at his legs while he struggled to cross the distance to the carriage. When they made it to the edge of the carriage, he guided the horse to side-step until they were parallel to the door.
“Hop on,” Auguste said, holding Beau still.
The red head pulled open the curtain and leaned her body out. Giggling, she grabbed his shoulder and climbed on behind him.
“You on?” he asked.
“I’m on. Go ahead!” she said as she settled in.
Auguste clucked and Beau began the strenuous job of pulling himself out of the mud. After holding still for her to mount and with the extra weight, dislodging himself was difficult. Clucking harder, he encouraged his partner on. With a grunt, Beau struggled through the mud until they reached the safety of dry ground.
The girl slid off with a thud. “Thank you!” she puffed.
With a nod, he spun Beau back around. Leaning down he patted his neck. “One more, buddy. Almost done.”
They headed back into the deep mud and Beau balked for a moment but moved on with one more squeeze from Auguste. After repeating the struggle through the deep mud once again, he stepped over to line up with the door. The shadow of the other sister moved behind the curtain before her ivory hand reached out and pulled the curtain back the rest of the way.
A War Within (Epic WWI Love Story) Page 7
