No Trench To Rest (The French Bastard Book 1)

by Avan Judd Stallard

  And what is the complete truth? Michel asked himself.

  That he died alone.

  On the shore of a lake he detested.

  To save a town that was obliterated anyway, along with hundreds of lives.

  Because of what I asked him to do …

  What true words are the right ones to explain that?

  Michel passed the stables and brought the horse to the household. He dismounted and tied her off on a thick and gnarled vine. Michel looked at the vine and remembered Percy telling him that it had been planted when he was just a boy, from a time when he followed his father around like an obedient dog, keen to be involved in everything.

  Percy liked old things, gnarled things, because it helped one remember and understand that the sweep of time was so much greater than a single generation. He had taught Michel that people were just a moment, when a place like Amer Ami would be there forever. Soon the vine would be older than Percy had been. It would outlast them all.

  Michel looked at the house. The door was shut and Maddy was not there to meet him, though he knew she must have heard the echo of hooves on the stone of the road. Rabinaud Valley hid nothing.

  He heard the blow of an axe splintering wood from behind the homestead. That had been Percy’s job. He insisted on splitting the logs just so; he told Michel and Émile that they did not have the touch, the finesse. Now his daughter was doing his work.

  So she knew. He had returned alone, and she surely knew.

  Michel walked through the garden until he saw her. She was surrounded by chips of wood. Maddy did not turn and Michel did not go to her. Eventually she dropped the axe. Her shoulders rounded as she grabbed at her own body and bit her fist.

  Michel stared at her back in silence. He heard her sobbing. Maddy slowly turned and looked up. Her face was a plea—that it not be true, that he might tell her a lie that let Percy still be alive.

  Michel shook his head. He walked forward and Maddy thrust her hand out.

  “Don’t,” she said. Maddy brought her hand to her face and rubbed the back of her palm across her eyes. She breathed deep and heavy.

  Michel took another step forward. “Maddy—”

  “Don’t come near me!”

  Michel stopped. “All right. I’ll … wait for you inside. When you are ready to talk. I’m so sorry, Maddy.”

  Michel walked away. He went inside and sat alone at a table as he listened to the hollow sound of a dead man’s axe striking wood.

  THE END