Quill Pen Scratchings

Chapter 11

Edmund awoke on Thanksgiving morning, and for the first time in quite a while, he did not go over to the hangar to tinker around with the plane.  He went to the canteen and ate some bread and drank coffee and then returned to his tent and wrote a note to his Mother and Father.  He wished them both a happy Thanksgiving and told them a little about the ceremony for Knox and about the missions that the pilots had flown, and then promised to write later to tell them about his Thanksgiving dinner at the chateau.  He thought that his mother would enjoy reading about that.  As he wrote, he thought about what he would be doing if he were still back at home.  There would be Thanksgiving dinner with his family of course, and probably a round of parties to go to with his friends, and they would all be studying ferociously for final examinations.  All of that was gone now.  Maybe he would return to it someday, but he wasn’t sure.  After sitting for a few moments, he signed the letter and sealed it and then walked it over to the administrative offices to put in the mail. 

He returned to his tent and washed himself and then put on the tuxedo.  As he thought, the shoes fit, but they rubbed his heel.  It would be okay for one day though.  There was a late November chill in the air, but he decided not to wear his overcoat, which looked quite shabby over the pressed tuxedo.  He looked at himself in the small mirror that Tino kept hanging on a post and combed his hair.  He left the tent and walked over to the offices.  As he passed other crewmen, he felt awkward in the tuxedo.  They all looked at his attire oddly, since to them, this was just another workday.  They knew about the party and knew that there would be no mission that day, so there was not a lot of activity at the camp. Just as Knox had promised, a Renault BK sat in front of the office with a driver in the open front seat.  Edmund had never seen one of these before, but he recognized it from a book that his father had given him about international car manufacturing.  The car had a closed passenger compartment in the back.  Edmund approached the driver.

“Are you from the chateau?”

“Oui.” The driver looked Edmund over.  “Monsieur Fitzhugh?”

“Yes,” Edmund said.  The driver got out of the car and opened the back door for Edmund.  He stepped inside the rather small compartment and said, “We need to stop in Bar le Duc to pick up one more guest.  At the Café Morel.”

“Oui Monsieur,” the driver said with a slight nod and bow before he shut the door.  He started the engine and the car trundled off down the road to Bar le Duc and Clemence.

When they arrived at the door to the café, Edmund opened the door and hopped out, just as the driver was getting out to open the door for him.  “Oh, er, sorry,” Edmund said.  “I will just be a moment.”

“Oui, Monsieur.”

Edmund stepped through the front door of the café. There were three sets of diners in the dining room. All looked at Edmund his evening wear as he walked into the room.  He strode over to the door into the kitchen and leaned his head in.  “Clemence?”  She was not in the kitchen, but Madame Morel stood in front of the stove, stirring something that smelled very good in a large pot.   A younger teenage girl was loading a tray with plates of food.

“Oh, Monsieur Fitzhugh!  Don’t you look handsome!” Madame Morel said, turning for a moment from the cooktop.  “Welcome!  Clemence is not down yet.”  She nodded toward the girl. “You can see that I had to acquire some help, since you are taking her away during the dinner hour.”

“Oh, sorry about that.”  Edmund stepped into the kitchen, and then off to the side as the girl passed him, balancing the tray.

“It is no matter.  Not much of a crowd these days anyway, I’m afraid.”  Madame Morel took the large ladle out of the pot and tapped it on the rim to shake off any excess and then put it down on a plate.  The girl walked back into the room.  “Go and see what’s keeping her, please dear?” Madame Morel said to the girl in French.

The girl put the tray down and walked over to the stairs, curtseying slightly and smiling without breaking stride as she passed Edmund.  She ran quickly and loudly up the stairs, and Edmund heard her say “Clemence! He’s here! He’s here!”  Edmund smiled. 

Madame Morel rolled her eyes and sighed in an exaggerated way.  “She’s a sweet girl.   Reminds me a lot of Clemence at that age.  So happy.”  She shook her head.  “Clemence has been fretting about what to wear ever since your invitation arrived.  She hasn’t been able to get much in the way of new clothes since the war started.  She is afraid that she will look very old fashioned, but I think we found something nice.”

“I’m very sure of that.” Edmund said, smiling.  In a few moments, he heard two sets of steps beginning to descend slowly.  Edmund could see satin high-heeled shoes on the top step, and then they slowly descended in a slightly sideways gait down the steps.  Edmund could see Clemence’s ankles as she took each step down.  The opening at the bottom of the long skirt was rather narrow, and she held it up to allow her to negotiate the steps. As she came into full view slowly, Edmund watched as her figure was revealed in the form-fitting green satin dress.  The girl bounded down behind two steps at a time, stopping several times to let Clemence get far enough ahead so she wouldn’t run into her.  Clemence’s hair was tucked into a black brimless hat.  She smiled at Edmund as soon as she could see him but then looked quickly down again at her feet to make sure that she didn’t trip. 

“Silly thing is a bit hard to walk down steps in,” she said.  Edmund quickly went to the bottom of the stairs, and held out his hand to her, which she took as she descended the last three steps.  “There we go, no broken ankles or anything!  I’m sorry that I kept you waiting.”

“You look beautiful.” Edmund said.

“Thank you.  And you look quite handsome.”  Clemence said, looking up at him.  The girl on the steps behind them giggled.

“Well, we must be off,” Edmund said, turning to Madame Morel.

“Yes, yes!  You children go!” Madame Morel called from the stove.  “And have a good time!”

“I will have her back in time for supper.” Edmund said.

“No matter.  I have young Sophie here all day, so take your time.”

“My goodness, Mother, I think you are trying to get rid of me.” Clemence said, smiling.

Madame Morel turned back to the stove and waved her hand in the air as a response.  Edmund thought she might be crying.  Clemence walked over to her and kissed her on the cheek, and Madame Morel patted her on the arm, but wouldn’t turn her face back toward Edmund.  Clemence walked back to Edmund.  He held out his elbow, and she slipped her arm through it.  “Good-bye,” he called, and together, they stepped out of the kitchen.  All the faces in the dining room turned to look at them as the two of them walked past.  Clemence greeted all of them with smiles and nods.  An elderly couple sitting in the corner both stared at Edmund and Clemence, smiling.  The man said, “Look how beautiful you are.”

“Merci Monsieur Pierre.”

“And so happy,” the woman added, and she reached over and patted her husband’s hand and smiled at him.  Clemence smiled at her.  When they stepped through the front door, she leaned into Edmund and said, “I have known them since I was a child.”  As they approached the car, the driver, who had been leaning against front door smoking a cigarette, quickly stood and flicked the cigarette butt into the street. 

“Clemence!” he said, and then glancing quickly at Edmund, “I mean, Madam Dumond.”

“Hello, Roger,” she said, smiling.  “I haven’t seen you for a while.”

“Yes, ma’am.  I was at the front.  Got shot up.  Now I’m back.  Working up at the chateau for the pilots.”

“Well, I’m very glad you are back,” she said, smiling at him.

“Shall we be off?”  Roger said, holding the back door open.

“Yes, thanks,” Edmund said.  He held Clemence’s hand as she stepped into the car.  She had to pull her dress up to put her foot on the running board, and Edmund put his hand on the small of her back to help her up.  Once she was in, he climbed in and sat down next to her.  She was sitting somewhat toward the middle of the seat, so that when Edmund sat down, she leaned into him.  She did not move away.

“Do you know everyone here?”

“Practically,” she said.  “He was friends with my brother and my husband.  I’m glad he made it back.”

The motion of the car made Clemence lean even more into Edmund.  Again, she didn’t make any motion to move away.  It felt very comforting to Edmund to feel her so near.

“It is funny though, how things change,” she said.  “When I was first dating my husband, Mother would never have allowed us to go off alone like this.  We were always chaperoned.  Either my brother, or sometimes she herself, would tag along.  My brother would sometimes leave us alone together though.  But now, she practically shoves me out the door with you,” she said smiling at Edmund.  “I guess she is afraid I will wind up alone like she is.”

Edmund smiled and nodded at her in what he hoped was a sympathetic way.  “Well, I am very happy that you came with me today.”

“I am too.”

They rode on in silence for several moments, the ruts and unevenness in the road causing them to rub and bump against each other gently.   After a while, they were driving beside a stone wall which eventually opened into a gate.  A French military sentry stopped the car and nodded at the driver and then looked in the back seat at Edmund and Clemence.  He stepped back and saluted, and the car pulled through the gate.  

They proceeded up a driveway of pea gravel that led to a large looming house.  It was of a yellowish stone with a steeply sloping roof of bluish-grey slate, with five gables jutting upward along the roof line.  There was a central hall, with two taller additions on either side of the main center part of the house.

“Oh, I have been here before,” Clemence said.  “I was much younger, and my mother had made some deserts for a Christmas party, and I went with her to deliver them.  It is quite beautiful inside.”

“What happened to the family that owned it then?” Edmund asked.

“I think I heard that they fled south when the Germans came so close and have loaned the house to the Americans to use.”

The driveway opened into a circle with a center island that was richly planted with flowers beginning their late-Autumn decay.  Two stone vases on columns stood in the in the middle.  Several cars were parked around the circle, and Edmund could see couples entering the house.  The men were mostly wearing dress military uniforms, but there were a few in tuxedos, and all the women were in expensive-looking dresses.  They had to wait as a car in front of them discharged its passengers.  In a moment, they pulled up to the door, and a French military attaché approached the car and opened the door with a white gloved hand.  Edmund stepped out and then turned and took Clemence’s hand and helped her as she stepped gingerly down onto the running board, and then onto the ground.  They joined several other couples entering the front door to the chateau and into a central hallway and then followed the line to a room off the hall.  There was a butler at the door announcing the names of each couple as they entered the room.

When Edmund and Clemence came to the door, the butler turned and looked at Edmund.  “May I announce your names, sir?”

“Yes, please.  Edmund Fitzhugh and Clemence Dumond.”

“Very good sir.  And your rank?”

“Sorry?”

“Your military rank, sir.”

“Um, just Monsieur.  Oh, and it is Madame Dumond.”  Edmund looked back at Clemence, and she was looking at him, but he could not decipher the look on her face.

“Very good sir.”  The butler turned to a table behind him that was covered with small envelopes laid out in neat rows.  Each envelope had one or two names written on it in scrolling handwriting.  A woman sitting behind the table looked over the envelopes and picked one up and handed it to the butler. 

The butler handed the envelope to Edmund, and said, “May I take your coat Madame?”

“Yes, please,” Clemence said, and a maid appeared behind her and whisked her coat away. 

The butler then turned and announced loudly, “Monsieur Edmund Fitzhugh and Madame Clemence Dumond.”

Several people had turned around to hear the announcement, and then looked Edmund and Clemence over, but then just turned again to their conversations.  Edmund held out his elbow, and Clemence slipped her arm through his, and they walked into the large ballroom.  Several oversized round tables were set on the near side of the room with elaborate place settings with precisely placed silver and gold chargers and several long-stemmed glasses of different shapes surrounding each place setting.  Large fall flower arrangements of marigolds sat in the middle of each table.  White cards with large numbers on them were perched on tall stems rising out of the middle of the flowers.

“I guess we should find our table?”  Edmund said to Clemence.

“Yes,” she said. Edmund opened the small envelope and pulled out a card that said, You are seated at table 12.  The words had been printed, but the “12” was handwritten. Edmund looked up and saw a table in the right-hand corner by the front window with a large “12” printed on the card floating above the flowers.  They walked single file between the tables and the people standing behind their chairs.  Edmund unbent his elbow and slid his hand down Clemence’s arm and took her hand.  She clasped his tightly as they weaved their way to the corner of the room.  No one was around their table, so they circled around looking for their seats and found that they were not together.  The table was arranged alternating men and women, and Edmund’s seat was exactly in the corner of the room and was between two women that he didn’t know.  Clemence’s seat was three over to his right, and she was looking at the names on either side of her seat.  Edmund walked around to where she was standing.  To the left of her, the card read M. Dewey Short. 

“I don’t know any of these people,” Clemence said.

“I know him,” Edmund said, pointing at Dewey’s card.  “He is an ambulance driver from St. Louis, Missouri.”  Clemence didn’t say anything.  “He is a nice guy.”

Clemence nodded.  She walked over and looked at the cards on either side of Edmund’s seat.  Then she looked up at Edmund and smiled, and picked up the card to his right, between Edmund’s and Dewey’s seats, and put it where her’s was, and put her card beside Edmund.  She looked up around the room to see if anyone had noticed.  Then she looked back at Edmund and smiled again.

Edmund saw Sgt. Knox across the room standing among a group of pilots all in dress uniforms, along with two older gentlemen in tuxedos.  Women in elegant dresses were mixed in among them.  Edmund took Clemence’s arm and said, “There is someone I would like you to meet.”  They made their way through the tables and around the crowds to the group of pilots.  Clemence trailed behind him with her hand clasped in his.  Edmund walked up behind Knox, who was engaged closely in conversation with one of the older men.  Edmund waited for a moment for a lull in the conversation and then reached out and put his hand lightly on Knox’s shoulder.  Still talking, Knox slowly turned his head and smiled at Edmund as he finished what he was saying. 

“Fitzhugh!  Glad you could make it!”  The older gentleman also turned to look at Edmund.

“Thank you for inviting me,” Edmund said.  “I would like you to meet Clemence Dumond,” Edmund stepped to the side so Clemence could step forward.  She held her hand out and Knox bowed forward and kissed it.

“Delighted,” he said.  As he straightened up, he looked at Edmund and raised his eyebrows and smiled.  “And I would like you to meet Dr. Edward Gros.  Dr. Gros, Edmund Fitzhugh of Annapolis, Maryland, and Miss Clemence Dumond.”  Dr. Gros nodded at Edmund and likewise kissed Clemence’s hand.  Knox clapped Dr. Gros on the back and said, “We all work for him.”

“Oh, nonsense, my boy,” Dr. Gros said, but he was clearly pleased.  “All of this was Norman’s idea.” Dr. Gros pointed with his thumb to another pilot, Norman Prince, who was standing slightly behind him.

“Well, sir,” Knox said, “you know what they say, ideas without means are just so much empty air.  Edmund here is now my chief mechanic, and I must tell you, sir,” Knox put his hand firmly on Edmund’s shoulder, “that I may have two kills, but Edmund here already has one, and he never even left the ground.”

Gros looked directly at Edmund. “Really.”

“Yes, sir,” Knox continued. “A Boche sniper tried to take out my old chief mechanic, and Edmund here shot him!”

“Well,” Dr. Gros looked at Edmund as if reassessing him. “Hell of a way to get promoted!”  He looked back at Knox, “But I daresay, you had more than two kills in the Legion, did you not?”

“Well,” Knox said looking down, but smiling, “let’s just say that I gave more than I got.  I’m not sure I distinguished myself as much more than just a target.”

“Oh, don’t be silly.  We all know what you did. And I…”

Gros was interrupted by Sgt. Blaine Rockingham, who put his arm around Gros’s shoulder and stepped into the conversation.  “Excuse me, Knox, for not letting you dominate the man of the hour here,” Rockingham said, with a drawl.

“Not at all, Rock.  You know Fitzhugh here,” Knox said.  Rockwell nodded towards Edmund, but he was looking at Clemence.  “And Miss Dumond.”  Rockingham took her hand and kissed it and held it longer than was customary as he looked directly at her. 

“It’s Madame, actually,” Edmund said.

“Madame?” Gros said, raising and eyebrow slightly.  “Is your husband at the front?”  Rockingham still held her hand.

“He was. He was killed a year ago,” she said, looking at Gros and not at Rockingham.

“Well, Madame, I am very sorry for your loss. You have truly given much to this war.”

“Yes, indeed, would you like to talk about it?” said Rockingham, looking deeply into Clemence’s eyes.

Knox put his arm out in front of Rockingham and grabbed his shoulder.  “Come on, Rock.  Let’s aim you somewhere else.”  He pulled Rockingham away from Clemence.  “If you will excuse us,” he said, nodding back to Edmund and Clemence.

“Pleasure to meet you, Edmund. Madame Dumond.” Gros said, nodding slightly at them.

“And you as well,” Edmund said.  Clemence nodded, and they turned and walked toward a table that was set up as a bar. 

“That was interesting.  Are all Americans like that?”

“Well,” Edmund paused and scratched the back of his head, “not all of us.”

“I suppose it takes a pretty healthy ego to fly around in those machines.”

“Yes, and in his case,” Edmund nodded toward Rockingham, “ego and alcohol.”

“Well, yes, maybe a little of that too.” Clemence smiled at Edmund.

At the drink table, Edmund picked up two glasses of champagne and handed one to Clemence.  He raised his glass towards her.  “Happy Thanksgiving!”

“Yes,” she raised hers also, “Happy Thanksgiving to you, even though I don’t know what that means.”

Edmund smiled at her, and they both sipped their drinks and looked around the room at the men in shining uniforms, and the women in beautiful dresses.  Soon, Norman Prince announced that dinner was about to be served and asked that everyone make their way to their seats.  When they were back at their table, Dewey Short and his guest, a Mademoiselle Aldaine, whom, Edmund thought, looked curiously like Dewey, short and a bit squat, with a blunt featured face.  Reuben and his guest were not there yet.

A man in an ambulance driver’s uniform, but also in a clerical stole with a large cross on a chain around his neck, stood up in the front of the room.  He asked everyone to bow their heads in prayer, and he gave, Edmund thought, a rather long prayer ranging from the Pilgrims to the safety of the pilots and then winding up with a plea to God that the United States would enter the war soon.  When he finished, Reuben Wood arrived with his guest, an elderly widow named Madam Cousteau.  During the meal, Madam Cousteau told Edmund and Clemence how Reuben and Dewey had labored in vain to save the life of her son who was caught in a mustard gas attack without his gas mask.  Apparently, he lingered for a few days, coughing up bits of his life in her parlor.   The two ambulance drivers had taken to looking after her, and she to cooking for them when they were off duty. 

The dinner was a surprisingly traditional American Thanksgiving dinner, complete with a large Turkey for each table, but with a French server to carve.  There was also ham, mashed potatoes and yams, stuffing, and corn and green beans.  Edmund had heard that food was scarce for many in the surrounding countryside, and wondered how such a feast had been acquired, but it was enough to remind him of home and was comforting to him, nonetheless.  There was also an endless flow of red and white wine and champagne. 

Most of the talk in the room was about Wilson’s re-election and what this meant for the prospects of America entering the war.  There was also a woman elected to the Congress for the first time, which elicited quite a bit of caustic humor.

When they were mostly done eating, and wedges of apple and pumpkin pie were served and eaten, Edmund could feel a slight pressure against his knee from Clemence.  He looked over at her, and she was holding her stomach and had her head bowed slightly.  She puffed her cheeks out as she looked at him.  “Would you like to get some air?”

“Yes, please,” she said with mock relief.  Edmund stood and made excuses for them, and they walked towards the door.  “I think there is a rather nice garden behind the house, if I remember correctly.”

Edmund asked the butler how to get to the garden, and he pointed them to a door that led to a back passageway and out into a traditional French garden.  It was neatly trimmed and cleaned up for the fall and winter.  It was chilly, and Edmund offered his suit jacket to Clemence, which she took and wrapped around her shoulders.

“We should have gotten my,” she said.  “Aren’t you too cold?”

“No, I am fine.”  He really was cold, but he wouldn’t admit it.

“Well, thank you for your jacket. That is very gallant.”  They walked in silence for a few moments, admiring the statues and the neat arrangement of the garden, and listened to the crunch of the gravel under their footsteps.  “It seems so surreal to be here in this beautiful garden of this beautiful house, walking with you after such a feast, to know that men are suffering and dying just up the road a bit.  And to remember how much has changed, how much has been lost since the war started.  I have trouble remembering what it was like before.”

Edmund nodded but didn’t say anything.  But he knew also what that felt like.  The life he had in Annapolis now felt like an extension of his childhood, all ended by Penny’s death.   And now here he was, living almost what felt like a second life, unconnected with his first. 

As they walked, he began to wonder how long this new life would last.  It wouldn’t take much, he thought, for the Germans to push their way through the front and drive south and overrun Bar le Duc and Behonne, which, he assumed with the successes of the Escadrille lately, was probably moving up on the target list.  This life began for him because of death.  Something that had only been abstract to him as a child now seemed to be around every corner, and behind every face he met.  Clemence was haunted by it, and the pilots faced it as a real possibility nearly every day.  He felt that he had only narrowly escaped it himself.  Maybe there wasn’t anything to look forward to.  Maybe it was just this garden, and Clemence, and that would amount to his life.

Edmund shuddered and reached out and squeezed Clemence’s hand tightly.  She slowly turned towards him and raised her head and looked into his eyes.  She was crying.  He put his arm around her and held her tight against him, and she seemed to melt into his body.  He wanted to hold her forever and not let her go.  She was all he had.  He felt her shoulders shake as she began to cry harder against his chest.  He held her until her body was still. 

She put one hand up against his chest and gently pushed and he loosened his hold on her.  She kept her head down, and he could hear her sniffling, and she was sorting through her handbag, eventually pulling out a handkerchief which she put up to her nose.

“I’m sorry,” she said.  “This was such a beautiful day, and a beautiful place.  But sometimes, I just get overwhelmed.  And you were so nice to bring me here for such a lovely time, and I have just ruined it.”

“No, not at all.  You made it wonderful,” he said and smiled at her.

She looked up at him, the handkerchief still over her nose.  She took it down and refolded it and wiped her eyes.  “I must look a sight.”

“No, you just look sad.”

She shrugged slightly.  “Not all the time.  At least not anymore.  Just sometimes…”

“I know.”

“Would you mind if we didn’t go back in?”

“No, I don’t really feel like it myself.  We can get your coat and call the car.  I will go give our regrets.”

“Thank you.  And thanks for bringing me today.”

They walked back into the house and retrieved her coat.  While the car was being brought around for them, Edmund stepped back into the dining hall and over to their table.  He said that Clemence wasn’t feeling well and that he needed to get her home.  Dewey stood and hugged Edmund in the deep brotherhood brought on by too much alcohol. 

Edmund and Clemence sat in silence on the way back to town.  She sat closer to him than she did on the way there.