#some of the letters are taken from WWII letters shared between Katie Walker and Brian Thomas

[free-for-all-fics]

So… What was supposed to be a much shorter prompt for Captain Renault developed a mind of its own and became a crossover prompt/story the length of a novella. Whoops. But I regret nothing. It’s a fitting end before I take a long break from Casablanca to focus on other movies! Don’t fret though! I’m not gonna stop writing for Louis Renault entirely, just any future prompts he’ll be in will be crossovers while I dip into other Claude Rains characters! This is part 1 of 3! Buckle up because this is my attempt at a slow burn and told through a partial epistolary format. Not every plot point is told in chronological order. The narrative mostly takes place in the past but occasionally jumps around with flash forwards and flashbacks interspersed.

Content warning: Majority of this story/prompt takes you through a fictionalized portrayal of World War I and some aftermath, neither of which are depicted in a way that would get approved under the Hays Code. World War II is also discussed, but not in nearly as great of detail because I was running out of steam. It will get dark and heavy at points, but there will be light at the end of the tunnel. I promise. That being said, this story/prompt contains mentions and depictions of adultery, violence (the kind of violence that comes with war but also a Claude character beats another Claude character with a blunt object in part 2) death, murder, verbal/domestic abuse, threats, blackmail, sickness, trauma, depression, pregnancy. Dead Dove Do Not Eat. There might be more that I’m forgetting. Pls tag me if you’re inspired by any of this and I’d love to read it! ⚕️🤍

You’re enjoying a quiet day at home with your husband and daughter when she finds old photos from your time during World War I and World War II. Neither you nor your husband have looked at these photos in what feels like ages. She asks, more like begs, for you to tell her about what it was like for you during those time periods. You’ve told her abridged versions before, but you thought it’d be too long and boring for her when she was growing up and kept it limited to only the parts that were appropriate for a child to hear. She’s an adult and old enough to appreciate it now, so you and your husband decide to finally tell her the entire story.

The increased militarization of Europe and the lack of negotiations between major powers led to harsh and rash actions taken by both sides in respect to Alsace-Lorraine during World War I. As soon as war was declared, both the French and German authorities used the inhabitants of Alsace-Lorraine as propaganda pawns. Germans living in France were arrested and placed into camps by French authorities. German authorities developed policies aimed at reducing the influence of the French. In Metz, French street names, which had been displayed in French and German, were suppressed in January 1915. Six months later, on 15 July 1915, German became the only official language in the region, leading to the Germanization of the towns' names effective 2 September 1915. Prohibiting the speaking of French in public further increased the exasperation of some of the natives, who were long accustomed to mixing their conversation with French language. Still, the use even of one word, as innocent as "bonjour", could incur a fine. Although the both of you were posted outside of Alsace-Lorraine, you were all too aware of the tensions that were rising between the Germans and the French, fueled by hate and fear. It wasn’t just the Alsace-Lorraine region that was affected, it was happening in other places all across Europe.

You tell your daughter that, while all this history may seem irrelevant at first, it’s important that you properly set the stage so she can fully grasp the seriousness of your situation. You, a German woman, and your husband, a Frenchman, befriended each other and later fell in love. That may seem inconsequential now, but back then, it was anything but.

Had it been like it was in the “old days” before Florence Nightingale, countless of otherwise perfectly strong and healthy men would’ve died. Back in those days, hygiene was neglected, medicines were in short supply, there was no equipment to process food for the patients, and poor care was being delivered to wounded soldiers by overworked medical staff in the face of official indifference. With overcrowding, defective sewers and lack of ventilation, ten times more soldiers died from illnesses such as typhus, typhoid, cholera, and dysentery than from battle wounds. Mass infections were common, many of them fatal.

But the First World War represented a turning point in the history of war and medicine. For the first time in a major modern conflict, doctors were able not just to treat and save the lives of hundreds of thousands of sick and wounded military personnel, they managed also to make unprecedented numbers of injured and diseased soldiers fit enough to return to the front lines to fight again. This was in part thanks to important developments in surgery and medical science – particularly advances in wound management, fracture and nerve injury treatment, bacteriology and immunology. But it was also the result of a gradual revolution in the organization and administration of wartime medical care – something to which most governments and armed forces were by now giving a great deal of attention.

Despite the many, many improvements since Nightingale’s time, your hospital wasn’t perfect nor were the people working there infallible. The working conditions for nurses overseas were generally poor. Typically, nurses had to adjust to many things that were uncomfortable or limited their ability to provide care. Long hours (14- to 18-hour shifts), extreme cold, and poor weather conditions were just a few of the adjustments that needed to be made, along with seeing and treating severe and often horrifying injuries with minimal equipment. Though considerably less, your hospital still had the occasional case of negligence on the ward. It was your duty and your mission to make sure that everything was kept clean and procedures were conducted in the correct manner to prevent infection. Your goal was to make sure that all the patients were comfortable and recovered quickly. Your passion was to look after people and to make them well again, and laziness you couldn’t abide. You had a duty to stamp out any traces of negligence and to intervene at the first sign something was wrong. Anything from an overworked nurse to a lookalike medication or patients with the same name mixup, you and your sisters on the ward all had a responsibility to watch each other’s backs and do everything in your power to prevent easy mistakes from being made before they became fatal mistakes.

You first met Louis Renault in November 1915. He had been posted abroad with the French Army and fractured his right leg below the knee during his service. He was sent to the hospital you worked at for medical treatment and put under your charge. At the time, the both of you were already married to other people. You were estranged from your husband. Louis, in contrast, was content in his marriage. He at least had a spouse who cared enough to write to him and loved her enough to write her back. He thought she was the love of his life.

You show your daughter one of the old journals belonging to Louis, in which he meticulously logged his major life events. You flip to the page where he wrote of his engagement, as this could be considered the very beginning of what would later become your love story. The ink is faded in spots, but still legible.

19 March 1912

Today is a day to celebrate! At long last, the woman I love has agreed to give me her hand in marriage. I must begin preparing for her arrival at once! I'll gladly change every fixture and fitting in the house so that she feels at ease. I'm also commissioning a special dress to be made for her. She's going to look stunning in it. I just know it.

When war was first declared in 1914, the reality of the situation didn’t immediately sink in for Louis. He knew that he was eligible for service and there was a high chance his name would be selected from the local ballot. He knew that he had only hours left to spend with Madeleine, his young wife, before he was forced to leave her behind to hold down the fort on the home front. But he kept these thoughts to himself and spent as much time as he could with her, hardly letting her out of his sight or out of his embrace for even a second. He doted on her, spoiled her, nearly smothered her in his affections and made love to her almost every day like he normally would.

The romantic that he was, he played his role and happily fulfilled his husbandly duties at home…until he received his conscription notice and couldn’t play pretend anymore. A single sheet of paper held so much weight. It forced him to face the reality that he had another duty, a duty to his country. After he was shipped out, he looked back on those last days spent with Madeleine and came to the realization that he made love to her and acted in a way indicative of how a man would if he was uncertain whether he’d survive or not. He never wanted it to be goodbye sex with her but there he was, subconsciously trying to use his body language to say goodbye without using words, in case he came home in a wooden box or didn’t come home at all.

The separation was extremely hard for the both of them. He missed his wife terribly, so much so that he nearly became physically ill from homesickness. She became lonely and wasn’t the same vibrant young woman that he once knew. He could tell this just by the change in the tone of her letters. The way she wrote, the words she used. In the years that followed, she became much more withdrawn and depressed. He did everything he could to comfort her and be there for her, but he couldn’t just abandon his post and she knew that. But phone calls and letters simply weren’t enough for her. Their marriage ultimately became much more subdued In the long run.

Your husband hadn’t bothered to write since you first began your training, citing that he had to go to Mexico on business then back to America. Before you left for your training, he told you over dinner that he’d be gone a long time and you wouldn’t see him very often. You weren’t surprised nor disappointed. He only confirmed your earlier suspicions that he wanted you out of the house and had ulterior motives behind his decision. But you were relieved. You had an extremely unhappy marriage and felt like a massive weight was lifted off your shoulders in your husband’s absence. You were free from the prying eyes and eavesdropping ears of both him and the servants, free from the stifling atmosphere of the cold and pretentious mansion. You no longer had to walk on eggshells out of fear of bringing embarrassment to your husband or jeopardizing his carefully constructed reputation. Here you could finally be yourself and stop putting on airs of being a great lady or happy wife. Though you had no say in it, in some zigzagged way, your husband gave you your name back and, with it, you had some grain of independence back. Whether he intended it to be that way or not, it was the greatest gift your husband ever gave you.

“You know, in some strange way, I feel closer to you than I ever have to anyone in my whole life. Do you understand that?”

“I think so.”

“You know that I'm married. I cannot ask anything from you but your friendship. But that would be very precious to me.”

“And to me, too.”

And so you became friends. With Louis, everything was new and fresh and wonderful. What he liked, you liked. A poem you loved before became twice as magical to you because Louis loved it too. While he was recovering from his leg fracture, he began to worry when he still hadn’t received word from his wife. He kept writing her almost daily, but nearly two months passed and still nothing came for him while he was in hospital. It became harder and harder for him to keep his thoughts at bay the longer he went without a peep from her. His letters not being returned to sender was of little comfort, but knowing that they were at least getting to her gave him the tiniest sliver of hope. Laid up in bed, he could do little else besides read and write in his journal. Maybe if he was just patient and waited long enough…

9 January 1916

I don't know how many weeks have passed, waiting to hear back from her. It's been so long, in fact, that I can barely remember even sending my last letter. I’m beginning to suspect that my letters never made it to her. Or worse still, what if she’s ignoring them or throwing them on the fire to burn? Oh, my dear Madeleine, just to hear from you is all I desire. Just a kind word from you to put an end to my inner turmoil is all I ask for. Maybe she really doesn't love me. Maybe she's happily living a brand new exciting life, getting romanced by other men. Maybe I’m just being paranoid. The drugs I’m being injected with numb the pain but make me drowsy. I can barely keep my eyes open. I need to stop writing now.

Louis developed a fever as his body attempted to heal itself. He experienced vivid fever dreams that felt almost like real memories, but weren’t. In his dreams, people all around town fell ill with a disease that had no name yet. Tourists and locals alike spread rumors that France had fallen victim to a silent but effective attack of biological warfare, while others called it a karmic curse brought upon them by their own hubris. In his nightmares, he couldn’t even think of leaving, still under the thumbs of his superiors and bound by his duties in the French Army. The thought of being forced to stay and keep fighting would’ve been more daunting and disturbing were it not for his wife. As long as she was waiting for him and safe at home, he believed he had the strength to see through till the end of the war. But his fever dreams always started and ended the same way:

It was a gorgeous early summer day. The sun was shining brightly, the birds were singing, and there was a warm gentle breeze. He came home early, expecting a kiss from his beautiful wife, and instead found her in the process of writing a Dear John letter. Sometimes she’d be writing to her lover and telling him of her upcoming nuptials, and other times she’d be writing to Louis and telling him of her affair and her desire to divorce him so she could marry the man she truly loved. Even after he woke up in a cold sweat, he still remembered the words on the half-written page so vividly that he logged them in his journal before he forgot:

Dear John,

I received your letter— glad to hear from you. We have been corresponding for some time together. This is very hard to tell you, but I know you’ll understand. I hope we’ll always remain friends, but it’s only fair to tell you that I’ve become engaged to another man. Now we will have to quit our corresponding to each other and I shall have to say farewell to you, my darling. As there was not any promise of marriage made between you and I, I feel at perfect liberty. If you’re in want of a reason, I would just say to you that I was afraid you would never come back; you are away up North, exposed to death, disease, and a smashing of your teeth on them hard crackers. After the war is over, I hope for a world where we may live in peace and safety.

But until that day comes, I must accept the security that wedlock has offered me. I leave the subject with you. I cannot stay with you or ever see you again, but I can only hope that you will understand some small measure of my conflict, and someday forgive me for my actions. Remember that however much I may appear to love him as a wife, it will never come close to amounting to the love I’ll always hold for you, my darling. Though my hand will be his, my heart will always be yours.

Madeleine xxx

Dear Louis,

I received your letter— glad to hear from you. We have been corresponding for some time together. Now we will have to quit our corresponding to each other, as I wish to be joined in wedlock with the man I’ve truly been dreaming of. I believe we are right together. We see no reason to delay in the inevitable. I wish to begin the divorce proceedings as soon as possible. I leave the subject with you. I know it’s not the welcome home you’d been hoping for, but putting it off and continuing this facade of a happy marriage would only be unfair and cause more unnecessary pain to you and I. If you’re in want of a reason, I would just say to you that I was afraid you would never come back; you are away up North, exposed to death, disease, and a smashing of your teeth on them hard crackers. Becoming a war widow is such a ghastly prospect, I can’t bear to even entertain the thought for a second. I really do my best to not think of it at all. I cannot stay with you or ever see you again, but I can only hope that you will understand some small measure of my conflict, and someday forgive me for my actions.

Oh, Louis. I'm sorry. So desperately sorry. I'm so grateful to you, and so proud, and fond of you. I don't know why I can't love you the way you want me to. I've tried, God knows, but I can't change my feelings. And it'll be a lie to say I do if I don't. I’m sorry, Louis. I’m really sorry I can’t love you as a wife should love her husband. You should be loved in the way that you want, in the way that you deserve, but I’m not the woman who can give you that kind of love. I hope someday you can find her, the special woman who can. She’s out there somewhere, waiting for you. I know it.

As for me, I shall have to say farewell to you, my dear. Though I do wish we could have parted friends. I so very much want to feel that you're happy for me. As I'd be happy for you, my darling. Remember: However much I love him as a wife, I will always love you as a friend. Stay safe and be happy, my darling, and God bless you.

Madeleine xxx

In his nightmares, Louis had no control over his words or his actions as he snatched the sheet of paper from Madeleine’s hand and began interrogating her as if she were a prisoner of war. He demanded an explanation but he never got one that was satisfactory. In the moment, he was confused, heartbroken, and angry all at once.

“But you and I are married! How can you just leave me here? I won't have it!”

“This whole city is cursed. If we remain here, all those dear to me will die.”

“Am I not dear to you, Madeleine? Stay with me, and we'll make it through the war together. We’ll rebuild our lives and start anew elsewhere once the war ends, if that’s what you want. I promise you!”

“I’m sorry, Louis. It wouldn’t make a difference where we’d go because I could never go with you.”

“Why not?”

“A journey like that? It’s impossible.”

“Tell me something, my dear. Ever since I got back, I’ve had a feeling that you were very far away from me. Have I changed so much?”

“We both changed. It seems centuries since we were married. Since I knew you.”

“Yes, I’ve seen that. But can’t we find those old selves again?”

“I’ve tried, Louis. I’m afraid they’re gone.”

“You did love me when you married me.”

“I thought I did.”

“Is there someone else?”

“Yes. I'm sorry, Louis, but there's someone else I love who needs me even more than you."

“I’ve sensed that. But I— Oh, well, I hoped against hope. Is that the real reason you want to go? Because there's someone else? Why didn’t you tell me so at once?”

“I thought I’d never tell you. I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“Do you think it hurts any the less now?”

“I’m deeply sorry, Louis. I wish it could’ve worked out differently. I wish it with all my heart.”

“Do you love him?”

“Yes, I do.”

“What’s his name?”

“Does it matter?”

“What’s his name.” He was no longer asking. He was demanding. He had been crossed, and his expression hardened into iron. His smile seemed more the result of a frozen face muscle than a cheerful disposition. He wasn’t Louis, her husband, in that moment. He was Renault, a hardened Captain of the French Army.

“Louis—”

“I have to know it eventually.”

His fever dreams were often unpleasant but never revealed the name of the man his wife was seeing behind his back. His mind was always too foggy. While he didn’t think he’d ever talk to Madeleine in such a harsh or cruel manner, he felt unsettled by what he saw. He was just a Lieutenant and didn’t have the rank of Captain yet, but his dreams showed him as a leader. Was he experiencing prophetic dreams that gave him glimpses into his future? He didn’t want to think about it.

When Renault awoke again, you were in his room. He didn’t move a muscle except for his eyes, which followed your every move as you went about your work. When he was first admitted, you asked him to tell you how he ended up with the fracture in his leg, as it looked to be very painful. He told you the entire story about how he ended up in your hospital. He left out no detail, no matter how gruesome. As a war nurse, he assumed you were experienced enough to have seen it all, and he was right. You treated numerous types of wounds, as well as infections and mustard gas burns. Bullet wounds and outdoor exposure, combined with the added hardship of not having antibiotics, made for risky work. You and your fellow nurses were also faced with soldiers suffering from emotional injuries, including shell shock. Some of you were trained in social work, including psychiatric training, in order to help current soldiers and those returning home deal with their experiences.

From what he told you, it sounded terrifying. You’d seen many soldiers come through hospital with similar injuries to his, but they unfortunately didn’t survive. In the early days of World War I, if a soldier suffered a broken femur, at best, he would endure incredible pain and a high probability of infection of his wounds during his extraction from the battlefield. If the fracture was compound (where the bone pierced the skin), there was a greater chance such men would die from the resulting blood loss and infection. In the horrendous conditions on the Western Front, combat medics and stretcher bearers struggled to dress broken legs and transport the patients back behind the lines to casualty clearing stations for treatment without causing further damage and immense pain. The standard method of splinting fractured limbs was not simple or fast enough to be performed in a lot of combat situations.

The Thomas Splint revolutionized the manner in which men injured in the First World War were treated. It was easy to use and highly effective. It allowed access to wounds for dressing and cleaning, while immobilizing the limb, reducing pain and the risk of further damage and severe haemorrhage. It was comprised of a ring that encircled the top of the thigh at the hip joint, and two sturdy wires that ran down the length of the leg on either side, joining at the ankle or below the foot. It could be applied quickly on the battlefield without removing clothing or boots, before lifting a patient onto a stretcher, making for safer and less painful transportation to medical care. These types of wounds needed patience and time, which the Thomas Splint could help with.

You disparaged those practitioners who didn’t take care to achieve accurate alignment, as they got nervous after a number of weeks and interfered with ‘delayed union’, as you liked to call it, which could lead to a permanent disability. Ideally, a team of three was required to apply the splint (an operator and two assistants) but it could be undertaken by just two members of the team, if necessary. There were twelve different stages in the application of the splint, which all served to make the patient as comfortable as possible – including the last stage of applying hot water bottles. The main goal of that was to be able to move the patient without causing him pain, or any further damage to the injured part. Teams practiced the application blindfolded, so they would be able to perform this function at night and in times of poor visibility.

The timing of when Renault suffered his injury linked nicely with the idea that treatment for fractured femurs had started to improve by that point. You told Renault that he was very, very brave and lucky to be alive. He was fortunate that hospitals had adopted the Thomas Splint, otherwise it was very likely he would’ve lost his leg to infection and amputation, rather than explosion or falling from a great height. Just the other day you had a young soldier who had a very non-fatal wound and, because of incompetence and negligence, that wound became infected. You were quick to assuage Renault’s fears by assuring him that the soldier was perfectly fine but, because of the infection, you had to use more resources and more staff to look after him which, of course, put strain on everybody else.

You were determined to keep Renault in one piece while he convalesced. He wouldn’t be subjected to limb amputation under your watch. You knew that he was a fighter and, thanks to that splint which stabilized his fracture and prevented infection, it looked to you that his leg was healing up very nicely. You did everything in your power to let him know that he was in the best hands when you were looking after him. You scooted your chair closer to his bedside but asked for his permission before you leaned in and invaded his personal space a little bit to get a better look at him. You noticed beads of sweat dripping down his forehead, shining like diamonds in the lamplight. He seemed to look a little bit flushed in the face and, when you felt his brow, it confirmed for you that he had the start of a fever coming. How long had he felt feverish? Two days? Had he told anybody about this? He did? Had anything been done? Had the doctor given him medicine? Nothing had been done? Oh, dear. He had been suffering so.

Your ward had some very serious supply issues because of the war. The supplies hadn’t been getting to you promptly and this obviously caused you and your fellow nurses and doctors some distress on the ward because you couldn’t give the patients and the injured the right things that they needed and, of course, like Renault himself, fever set in and then you had to work even harder to break that fever. You managed to find a very small tincture of tonic for him. It wasn’t a full dose but it was the best that you could do. At least it would provide him with some comfort at least for the next twenty-four hours or so. You warned him that it was bitter stuff and tasted awful, but you promised that it would make him feel better. You told him that it should hopefully break his fever or, at least, make it feel like it for a day or so. Wishing to get it over with as quickly as possible, Renault downed it like a shot of brandy and quickly swallowed before he had a chance to really taste it on his tongue. You told him how well he was doing and how proud of him you were. The worst part was hopefully over now.

You asked if he was quite comfortable and, when he responded in the affirmative, you asked if he had any family. That’s when he first started telling you about Madeleine, his young wife back home. While he was bedridden, he showed you pictures and told you everything about her. She was a beautiful young woman who was many years younger than himself. In fact, she was closer to your age than his own. Despite their age gap, he spoke of her with such love and reverence that you could tell she meant the world to him. He adored her very much, but their marriage hadn’t produced any children.

“How wonderful! Well, you’ll be seeing her very, very soon once your wound heals up. It looks like it’s very much on its way! Once your fever breaks then I’m sure that you’ll be sent back to France swiftly to be reunited with your wife. You must miss her very much. You’ve been stationed here an awfully long time. Well, to be here all this time and only now just become injured, I would say that you’re a very good soldier and very lucky too. Now let’s reapply this bandage on your leg so that this won’t be quite so unpleasant as before. But you just tell me if it hurts at all.”

Wanting Renault to sleep as soon as possible, you fetched some cool water and a clean cloth to bathe his forehead. He still seemed quite flushed and a bit sweaty, so you wanted to provide him some relief from his fever by just cooling his face down until the medicine kicked in. You knew that it was no fun for anyone to feel feverish and sweaty when trying to fall asleep, and sleep was the most important part of recovery. It allows our bodies and minds to relax, which is very helpful in the healing of our bodies of any wounds, as well as our mental and emotional wellbeing. He closed his eyes and you encouraged him to think of his wife back in France. You wondered aloud what she was up to and told Renault that he was doing a great service by being here fighting for his country. You bathed his face, his forehead, and the back of his neck, all while continuing to tell him that everyone was so proud of him, proud of everything that he did for them. You were all proud, so very, very proud and thankful. He and men like him kept you all safe from your enemies and allowed you to live in peace and safety. He had sacrificed so much and you were truly thankful.

Renault looked to be on the verge of falling asleep at any moment, his eyes drooping and closing before reopening just slightly, but just for a few moments so he could tell you that he was feeling a little bit better. He grabbed your hand and stopped you from moving away when you made to get up. His brown eyes, though tired, looked at you imploringly. He was too drowsy to speak coherently and he slurred his words, but you could tell that he wanted you to stay. Though he knew he needed rest more than anything, he didn’t want to fall asleep just yet. The fever must’ve been making him a bit muddled since he acted in a way as if he was afraid that, if he fell asleep, he’d never wake up again. It’s a behavior you’d seen all too often in patients afflicted by fever.

“Oh, my dear, don’t be afraid. I am never too far away. As long as you can see my lamp, then you know that I’m around and, should you need me for anything else, all you have to do is call my name and I’ll come and assist you. Now is there anything else that I can do for you before I move onto the next patient?”

In a spur of the moment, he held your face between his hands and pulled you in for a kiss. It happened so suddenly that you didn’t have time to overthink it because it was over as soon as it began. With that, he finally closed his eyes and released you, seemingly drifting off to sleep seconds later. Though the kiss came as a shock to you, you didn’t think too much of it. Renault was feverish and probably out of his mind with delirium. The line between dream and reality was probably so blurred that he mistook you for his wife for a moment. You doubted he’d remember it in the morning, so you just washed your hands and took other precautions to make sure he wouldn’t get you sick. The last thing you wanted to do was put other patients at risk. Unbeknownst to you, Renault was still awake, though barely. After a few minutes of listening to the sounds of your voice and your fingers turning pages as you scribbled down notes on his chart, he could’ve sworn he felt you lean over him and kiss his forehead. Maybe he was already asleep and dreaming, maybe he was just imagining things due to the fever, but he thought he heard your voice whisper in his ear,

“Now sleep, darling. The doctor will be back tonight.”

But what nobody knew was that, just mere days later, his world had been turned upside down by a letter from his wife. Although initially happy to receive the correspondance, as he continued to read, Louis realized that the letter she sent wasn’t intended for him. From the contents of the letter, he discovered that Madeleine had been cheating on him with John Stevenson, a family friend from England who joined the British Army. This was only made possible because Madeleine, who had been writing to the two men in secret, had accidentally placed this most recent correspondence into the envelope addressed to him. An easy mistake to make, but a damning one.

The revelation was especially hurtful to Louis because he was the one that had introduced Madeleine to John in the first place. He had frequently seen the pair chatting animatedly at social get-together's but, up until that moment, he had always dismissed these interactions as a close friendship or even motherly affection on Madeleine’s part. In hindsight, Louis realized that he had been foolish to think that. Not only were John and Madeleine closer to each other in age, they also shared many interests. It was only natural that an attraction would develop between them. Once he finished reading the damning letter, he folded it, placed it back in the envelope and safely put it in his breast pocket. He’d probably need it for evidence once he began the divorce proceedings - if he began the divorce proceedings - and he didn’t want to risk it being destroyed. The safest place for it was on his person.

Nearly three years out there in that hell of loneliness, thinking always of her. Thinking he couldn’t die because she’d never know how much he loved her. Didn’t she know what it meant when he received her letter after enduring such a long silence? How he wanted to hurry back to the happiness he’d missed, only to find it gone. Stolen from him, stolen! All for this…this ridiculous notion of calf love. This... Why, he showed her what life was. He showed her love and he gave her understanding. Was this infatuation so precious to her that she could turn her back on understanding? Oh, he knew he wasn’t a youth. He wasn’t a savage, a little wavy hair... Why should he have denied it her?

Although devastated and justifiably furious by his discovery, Louis decided not to confront John nor Madeleine about their affair. That being said, he refused to forgive them either. Louis, not yet willing to give up on his marriage, quietly blamed John for seducing his wife and thought about waiting for an opportunity to not only get revenge but to remove his traitorous friend from the equation. John ruined his life, so he thought about taking his. But these revenge fantasies were intrusive thoughts that only lasted for a brief moment and he quickly thought better of it.

21 January 1916

Oh, this wretched life of mine! Madeleine, the woman I loved and to whom I am married, has been unfaithful to me with John Stevenson, a man I always thought of as a dear friend and confidant. Now I don’t know what to think of him. Or her. Did she never love me at all? Why wasn’t I good enough for her? What does John have that I don’t? From just one letter I can tell this has been an ongoing affair. This wasn’t just a one-time event, a lapse in my wife’s judgment brought on by loneliness and anxiety. That I could forgive. This has been a conscious decision from the both of them. Knowing what they did, I don’t know if I could stand to look at either of them if they stood in front of me now. Maybe they’d be too ashamed and wouldn’t be able to look me in the eye either.

It may seem vindictive and petty to think such things, but a part of me hopes they felt guilty for doing it and were thus prevented from enjoying their first time together in our marital bed. If they felt guilty to the point of denying themselves pleasure and being unable to find that release it would mean that, even in its smallest measurement, they cared about me, about my feelings. They had to have known what they were doing was a betrayal of my trust. Do they still feel guilty? No matter which way I look at it, their deceit cuts me to the core. Now I'm lost. Where do I go from here? What's left for me? I can’t go home once the war is over, can I? No. They love each other. She’ll leave me for him, and they’ll take the house. There will be no home to go back to. Not for me. I know it.

It was a war healer's duty to patch the wounds of the soldiers they encountered. But the war felt endless, almost pointless and, after Madeleine’s betrayal, a certain contrarian Renault enjoyed dashing your hopes. He became cynical, jaded, and defeatist, but you were the only person he trusted enough to confide in about his wife’s infidelity with his friend, so you knew his sudden change in attitude and personality was due to his grieving. You wouldn’t let his pessimism and bleak outlook on life get to you, however. Though he was stubborn and tried to fight you on it, you strictly upheld a fixed limit on how much he could drink and smoke per day. This was an extremely stressful time for the both of you. Renault said some rather nasty things to you that don’t bear repeating, but you stood your ground. You wouldn’t let him recklessly jeopardize his health in his vain attempts to numb his emotional and mental pain.

He could insult and cuss you out all he liked, you weren’t going to give in to his demands. You weren’t going to let him kill himself. Too many good men had died already. You instead helped him find better coping mechanisms during this difficult time. Even if he refused your help at first, you never gave up on him. He wasn’t just your patient, he was your friend. And you didn’t want to abandon your friend while he was hurting. He later apologized to you for what he put you through. His emotions, though justified, were misplaced and he wrongfully took it out on you. You forgave him. You knew he wasn’t a bad person. He was a good man underneath it all.

When the doctor later gave him a physical examination, nothing appeared to be out of the ordinary. The swelling and inflammation seemed to have gone down. There were no signs of infection or nerve damage that would impair his ability to walk or run in the long-term, but he still had some healing to do before he’d be able to get up and move normally again. Or at least, that’s what the doctor tried to tell him.

“You're in pretty good shape. For once the Germans failed to shoot par for the course.”

“I wonder why. By now according to the rules, I should be floating in the bay or lying in a mass grave somewhere.”

“Maybe they were horrified at the sight of blood. Why don't you ask your nurse why they didn't dispose of you?”

“I already asked her.”

“And she didn't know a thing?”

“What are you getting at?”

“Nothing.”

“This place has really made you sick. She's actually trying to help me.”

“Last night the nurse came and told me to put you back together again. A woman like her? That's something else again.”

“Ah, you drunken... Doc?”

“Yes?”

“How am I?”

“How are you, or how are you if anyone asks me?”

“How am I if anyone asks?”

“Non-displaced transverse fracture in the right leg. You won't be up for some time.”

“Thanks.”

With that, Louis put on a robe and grabbed a pair of crutches as he got out of bed against medical advice. He wandered the hospital in search of you and, when he found you alone in a supply room, he quickly shut and locked the door. If anyone else saw either of you alone together in a supply closet, you would’ve gotten into so much trouble.

“There’s something I wouldn’t talk about while there was a chance I’d be half-crippled. You have to know I love you.”

“That’s enough, Renault.” You made to leave, but he stopped you.

“No, please wait!”

“I’ve got to take you to the x-ray room.”

“You don’t need an x-ray. I’m telling you the important thing that’s going on inside me right now. That first night here, I remember your face as I went down to the anesthetic. It was your face that smiled at me as I woke up.”

“All patients think they’re in love with their nurses.”

“This isn’t that kind of stuff. Believe me, I know. I’ve been around a lot. I’m glad I have, otherwise I wouldn’t know the real thing now that I’ve met it.”

“I think you better have another nurse, Renault. I’ll speak to Matron.”

“So will I. I’ll tell her I’ll shoot any other nurse on sight.”

No longer ailed by a fever, his mind was clear and he was fully aware of what he was doing as he grabbed you up in his arms and kissed you with such fervor. Though you tried to refuse him and push him away, your resistance didn’t last very long. You gave in and reciprocated his kiss, wrapping your arms around his neck and curling your fingers in his hair. While you both may have thought what you were doing was wrong, your guilty consciences weren’t enough to stop you. Neither of you allowed for doubt or regret to set in because you didn’t want it to. Such thoughts were kept at the very back of your minds. But you still pulled away to admonish him. He shouldn’t have been up and about just yet! He needed more rest! The doctor made it clear that he needed to stay in bed for the time being until his cast was ready to be removed. His wandering around the hospital without at least notifying a nurse first was so dangerous. He could’ve slipped and fell or otherwise hurt himself even further.

But he silenced your admonishments with more kisses. In between kissing you, he teased you that you were a nurse, so this was him notifying you that he was up and wandering the halls. He insisted that he felt better than he ever had before, that he was made of tougher stuff than you gave him credit for. He could survive anything so long as he felt loved by you, even those pains that exploded within, those silent hand grenades. With your kindness and compassion, he could endure it. When you smiled at him you were a bandage that wrapped around his body, heart, and soul, piecing him back together again finer than any surgeon could’ve done.

With his marriage falling apart and the whole world crumbling around his ears, Renault, who wanted you to drop the formality of calling him by his rank or surname and call him Louis, chose this time to fall in love with you. It was you who ultimately helped mend his broken heart and helped him to see from a new perspective. His marriage wasn’t a waste of time nor a failure. Divorce wasn’t an admittance of failure. He wasn’t a failure. He needed to figure out a way to go about getting a divorce from Madeleine so that he could be free to be with you without causing anyone involved in this complicated affair unnecessary pain or hardship. Louis did end up walking with a slight limp after his treatment. However, that was a much better outcome than that which other men had to deal with. There was no loss of life or limb in his situation. You believed that, with physical therapy and time, his limp would be corrected.

“No, really, why didn’t you come?”

“Was it so urgent?”

“Terribly. Can you stand a bit of shocking news?”

“Please, tell me the worst.”

“Are you sure you’re prepared?”

“Yes, sir.”

“All right then. Here it is: I’m well. They’re kicking me out of hospital today.”

“Today?”

“Fit for duty with a week’s leave recommended.”

“You must be very glad after all these months.”

“I suppose I should be glad. It’s your fault that I’m not.”

“Where are you going for your leave?”

“I’m not going. I’m staying here. Do you mind?”

“Why should I?”

“You shouldn’t. You should try to look pleased.”

“Should I? You really ought to go now.”

It was inevitable that you both had to return to your duties, but that didn’t stop either of you from continuing your love affair by writing to each other. Louis made a smooth recovery and was eventually released from his medical discharge, deemed fit enough to rejoin the fight.

It’s at this point in your storytelling that you show your daughter some of the old love letters you and Louis wrote to each other. In those days, you and he just wrote and wrote and wrote until your hands became sore and covered in ink or charcoal. There’s hundreds of them and you’ve kept them all.

19 February 1916

…Do you remember, dearest one, that I once told you of a girl years older than myself who taught dancing, and who I had a calf infatuation over when I was very young? And the father had asked me my intentions!!? Well, she married a year ago a very nice man whose wife had deserted him by going to America at the beginning of the war. The divorce of this man took three and a half years to go through, and had far more uncertainties and difficulties than you could ever have dreamed of, and all the time she and he were longing to marry and wondering if it would ever come true. Well, it did, and they married. He's 45 - she’s 42. They’re terribly happy, and they said that after all they'd suffered, waiting and worrying, nothing could ever again make them unhappy.

He told me all he knew of the divorce laws, and he knows just everything, because I wanted his advice. He said how anxious the whole business was, but they never lost heart. Our wait will only be about a year, but when I saw what they'd endured and survived, I just knew that we too would stand the test, and knew also that, when we finally got there, no power or circumstances on earth could ever again separate us or make us unhappy. Because I know that our love is a really true love of the right kind. So wait for me, my own darling, and when I come back to you, I'll make you the happiest of women that the world has ever known and you mustn't mind if I spoil you all the time. Oh darling, darling one, if I could tell you half of how much I love you, and how completely you are now a part of me. But I think perhaps that your heart does know all this. And now I'm going to stop. All my love, my darling.

Louis xxx

He contacted Lee Gentry, a clever and suave but unscrupulous and dishonest American lawyer who had just come over to Europe with his girlfriend, Katy Costello. He was always saving somebody’s life, so abominably clever at solving other people’s troubles yet so half-witted when it came to his own. Mr. Gentry boasted that he lived by lies, made money by lies, and became famous by lies. His analytical mind was always working on something. A little voice inside that legal brain of his was always whispering to him, walking him through step-by-step of what he should do next.

His life, as he told it to Louis, was also complicated by a love triangle. He began where sensible men left off. Hand-holding and what went with it didn’t seem to be enough. He had to pull them apart and see what made them tick. Overwhelm them with attentions, absorb them. With the result that, when he showed signs of leaving some little thing, she acted like sixty-five wives. Why couldn’t he find some interest other than women? Something normal, like poker or running for Congress. Then he never would’ve been in trouble. Two years ago Mr. Lee Gentry began dating Ms. Carmen Brown. But then he later met and fell in love with Ms. Katy Costello. He was so crazy about her that Carmen became something horrible to him.

Every time he saw her, he had to keep her out of his voice, his eyes, his hands. That hatred, that wanting to turn on her and yell… But it couldn’t be done that way. He didn’t want to leave a woman behind whose grief was going to be a beggar pulling at his and Katy’s elbows. But he couldn’t go on like that for much longer. It wasn’t fair to either woman and it wasn’t fair to him. He called on Ms. Brown with the happy notion in mind of just getting it over and done with by telling her that he didn’t love her anymore. Instead he ended up in such an epidemic of kisses, vows, promises. It was discouraging. Carmen believed they had been in love for two years, that it had all been so sweet and was more than an affair, that he wouldn’t have tried to hurt her in the way he did unless there was some reason because he was too nice for that.

When he came to her room to finally break things off with her once and for all, Carmen was near hysterical, telling him that he couldn’t leave her now. She wanted Lee to tell her about Katy, believing that if he told her about her, she’d have a chance. She wanted so badly for Lee to give her that chance. He insisted there was nobody and begged Carmen to stop. He didn’t want them to go on like that and torture each other. Carmen called Katy a cheap little blonde who was as empty as a paper bag. She accused her of only wanting Lee for what he had, not him. She didn’t believe he could love a woman like that. Not him. Lee still pretended to have no idea what she was talking about. He refused to listen to anymore, but she caught him in his lies. She knew he’d been lunching with Katy at the Royal Hotel. The orchestra leader played there in the afternoons and he saw them together.

Lee finally decided that he had had enough and told her his right name finally. That he loved Katy. He loved her and he was leaving Carmen for her. Carmen was so distraught that she professed that she didn’t want to live. That she wanted to die. That they’d find her dead and fix Lee for it. She fumbled around her desk drawer for the gun she kept there. The gun that he gave her. But it was missing from the drawer. While she was in the other room, Lee was smart enough to take it away, empty the chamber of all the bullets, and stuff them in his pocket. Not trusting her with that plaything, he told her that he was going to keep it. Just like he thought she would, she tried to physically stop him when he made to leave. She wrestled and reached for the gun, but it was unloaded and wouldn’t do her any good even if she had gotten a hold of it. She could do nothing to stop him as he left her apartment.

But then he heard the news that she leapt from the window. He never thought she’d stoop to suicide. He thought her too real, too proud for that. But he was wrong. That tragedy led to a court case where he was considered close to the deceased and a person of interest. During the investigation into her death, he was suspected for a time since he was the last person who saw her alive. That period of being questioned by police and in a court of law was extremely stressful, the most stress he’d ever endured. He was so comfortable with being on the opposite side of the stand, the man who asked the questions. But being called to testify on it and having to give the answers to another man’s questions was nearly petrifying. Ultimately it was ruled there was no foul play and Carmen’s death was indeed a suicide.

No charges were pressed against Lee and he was able to walk away a free man, but he didn’t want a repeat of ever coming that close to the electric chair ever again. It was all much too close for comfort. He moved as far away from that case, from her, as he could go. It was an arduous undertaking that took many years and hard work, but he eventually succeeded in moving his practice area from criminal law to civil law. He was and always had been a genius of the law, but now, instead of calling himself “The Champion Of The Damned,” he was now and forever “The Champion Of The Divorced.”

Their past and present troubles with the women in their lives was something Louis and Lee had in common, but there was an unspoken agreement between them that what Lee told him about his past experience would be kept off the record, a secret between men. There was still the matter at hand.

“Now listen to me. Even after you’ve grown to hate a woman, you can’t pick up your hat and go. You’ve got to do it like a gentleman. I don’t know why. You know, leaving a woman, Mr. Renault, is a long and desperate process. Like wrestling with a piece of fly-paper in a high wind.”

“The trouble is, I’m too nice.”

“Indeed, Mr. Renault. But fortunately for yourself, she’s never been in love with you. So she’s only seen your worst side. In love with another man, you are a monster to her.”

“You don’t expect me to believe that.”

“Believe it or not, it makes no difference to me. Either way, I certainly wouldn’t worry about the what ifs surrounding your soon to be ex-wife. She was no Little Bo Peep from what I gathered.”

“Mr. Gentry.”

“After all, from what you told me and this love letter, this John Stevenson fellow took Madeleine away from you, not dissimilar to how I took Carmen away from Eddie White.” He paused, as if thinking back to how that all turned out, then shrugged. “Well, it seemed like a good idea at the time. I’m sure your wife loves him just as much as she pretended she loved you. Your testimony combined with this love letter from your wife to another man should be substantial proof of your wife’s infidelity. It’ll take time, but it should be enough for the judge to grant you a divorce. The process may go even faster if there was evidence of infidelity on both parties. That’s what you should think about when you’re with other women. There are others, aren’t there?”

No. There weren’t others, as in plural. Yes. There was another woman. Just the one.

“That’s not a bad idea.”

After meeting with Mr. Gentry, Louis met you for lunch.

“What's wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“My dear, what are friends for if you can't tell them your troubles? And we are friends, you know. We promised each other three months ago. That's one of the reasons I wanted to see you today. To celebrate the three month anniversary of our friendship.”

“Oh, Louis.”

“Do anniversaries make you sad?”

“No, but... I've got something to tell you.”

“I have something to tell you, too.”

“But I've got to say this now while I'm able to.”

“Yes, my dear?”

“I'm not going to see you anymore.”

“Why is that?”

“Well, it's not the reason you think. I mean, people talking about us. They are, you know. The other nurses on the ward, all my friends.”

“And I suppose the other nurses on the ward, all your friends, have taken it upon themselves to warn you of the evils of knowing a married man. A married Frenchman, at that.”

“Yes. You should hear them. But that's not the reason I'm not going to see you again. I don't care what people think. I'm only thinking of me.”

“You?”

“Well, you see, whatever people do think and say, all we are is good friends, and I can get along without you now. But things would get terribly complicated if I ever fell in love with you. So, before I do, I'm going to say goodbye.”

“All right. You've talked. Now it's my turn.”

“Louis, there really isn't anything more to say. My mind is made up.”

“Yeah, so is mine. Do you think I don't know that people are talking? I'm not a fool.”

“I told you, I don't care what people say.”

“Well, I do care, and I'm not going to expose you to it. And furthermore, I'm not going to let you go.”

“But, Louis...”

“I saw my lawyer this morning. I asked him to arrange for a divorce.”

“Louis. But your wife, isn't she going to be terribly unhappy?”

“No. Not so long as I leave her the house and everything in it. And even if I never saw you again, I'd still want the divorce. Until a few weeks ago I never really knew what love was supposed to be. If I can't have you, I don't want anyone. I love you, my dear. Will you marry me?”

“Oh, Louis. I-I really don’t know what to say. I’m not saying no. I don’t want to say no, but…might I have some time to think it over? I just can’t think about it all until the war is over. I can’t give your proposal adequate consideration until then. So, will you wait?”

“I’d wait forever.”

“I’m not asking for forever. Just another year or two.”

With Mr. Gentry’s advice in mind, Louis Renault, in keeping with the times, wanted to divorce his adulterous wife without bringing shame and embarrassment on her. Even after all she’d done to hurt and humiliate him, he wanted to spare her from that same hurt and humiliation. Ultimately, he orchestrated his own extramarital affair by going through the charade of checking into a hotel with an actress for the night so he could be blamed for the separation.

2 March 1916

…I just sweated blood thinking how on earth I’d ever find someone who could enact the farce with me. If I picked up a common tart, she'd immediately have been suspected when we arrived at a hotel and, worse still, she'd expect to be slept with. If I failed to oblige, she'd smell a rat. If I found someone I knew, who'd be prepared to stop a night at a hotel just out of a spirit of sportsmanship and friendship, she'd run a risk perhaps of being seen by someone she knew, and her fair name would’ve suffered. And anyhow I knew no one I could possibly have asked to oblige. What I wanted was a body who wouldn't mind being seen, who wouldn't expect me to sleep with her, and it was hard to think of who could do me this good turn, without even knowing me. So there was the problem.

[…] But then I remembered that my sister vaguely knew a girl from Paris who was in with all the stage folk, lived on her own, and had just divorced her husband. So when I saw her in town, I hoped to chat her up, take her out to dinner, and then tell her my problem. I hoped she'd be able to perhaps suggest someone who would do the deed with me. Well, I went round to her flat after ringing her up, and we had a drink or two. She said immediately she'd do it, and there we were. So she and I just spent two nights in a hotel about twenty miles out of the capital city, and just slept peacefully in our separate beds! I never even held her hand!

When I left, I tried to get her to accept a gift, as a token of gratitude, but she wouldn't. I gave her a bottle of French wine and ordered a whopping bunch of flowers to be sent to her, and that was that. I’m deeply grateful to her, and my faith in the essential decency and generosity of ordinary people has gone up by leaps and bounds, by a complete stranger who did it for no reward, but just to help a man who was in difficulties. She just went through the whole nonsense as if it was one huge joke. So that was the whole story of my incursion into the realms of organized legal vice! […] Goodnight my most dearest beloved. I love you very very very much.

Your Louis xxxxxxxxxxxx

And that was the story of how he first developed his reputation as a hedonist, a rake, and a womanizer among other, more scathing remarks and rumors.

16 March 1916

…At times I feel a bit weak-kneed at not getting down to work for this but once proceedings have started it will be so much easier to explain things. I'll just be able to say I'm being divorced and that will be that, and inquisitive people won't have the opportunity to speculate and wonder what's up! But, darling, don't worry - if we do find this is a good spot to work and live as usses, I know you'll love it, although I'm sure England or America sound like foreign lands to you. Any part of either country will be a happy part when it's inhabited by you, my own darling, and by me, who loves you so very, very much. And now I'll say good night so that I can catch the post. All my love, my own darling one. And it's a great big piece of love. It’s all the love I’ve got and it’s all for you.

Your Louis xxx

23 April 1916

I loved another bit of your letter when you said you were building some special undies for when our future comes. I'm sure they are lovely and I swear I'll handle you as gently as if you were a piece of Dresden china when you've got them on. And I promise we won't have a ripping time. Quite apart from looking the sweetest and loveliest girl in all the world, you have the dearest, tenderest and most lovable characteristics, a beautiful voice and a dirty mind. I'm madly in love with you and I haven't seen you for a long, long time, and every day that passes seems an eternity, but soon I'll be meeting you again. One day soon you’ll be made to change your name and, when that happens, there will be one man in this world who will just burst with happiness. He'll be the very proudest and luckiest man alive. […] All my love, my very dearest darling, and look after your very precious self.

Louis xxx

29 April 1916

That you should love me in spite of all the dreary snags I've got, just fills me with wonderment. Oh, darling dearest, I do just adore you. Isn't it amazing that a love like we’ve got can actually make one happy though we're apart? I miss you like hell all the time, but the very knowledge that there really is an usses makes me happy in a wonderful deep sure manner. I'm sure no one else has ever had an usses but with us it's a tangible thing. When I think of you, my darling, I don’t somehow think of you as a separate being. I think of you as a part of my conscious self and you and me and usses and it’s always so vivid. It’s all the things we’ve ever said and done, all the sweet things you said to me, all our funny lownesses and the way we look and the smell of you and the way we dance and all I think of you.

All that and heaps more is only just a fraction of what our usses is to me, my darling one. As you said in your letter, the time it takes us to get finally together is a waste, but it’s no longer frightening. Do you remember how afraid we were once that anything could change? Now I know it won't. I've never been so certain of anything in all my life as I am of my love for you, darling, and you will never escape me now. You just very well try, and see how I react! I will deal with you like the young girl who thought she was shrewder. I was shrewder. She thought it was rude to be viewed in the nude (pardon me). But I viewed her, pursued her, and... You will never guess what I did to her when I caught her. […] Good night my dearest, dearest, dearest darling – all my very best beloved. All my love always and always.

Louis xxx

5 May 1916

Darling, I think so much of the time when you return. As you once said, it won't matter a hoot what we do or where we go or what we go in, just as long as we can meet and be together for a little while. My sister is most terribly keen for you to come here and, at the moment, I can't quite visualize how risky that might be. There are all sorts of things that might occur and make the risk unjustifiable. I just couldn't bear for anything to happen to delay our final usses. If my wife got to hear of it, she might get vindictive but I've heard a lot since I returned and she had had a long affair with a man I once knew but hadn't seen for years. I don't blame her for this but she should perhaps have been more honest and said that her change of heart was due to this. Now I am glad it has happened because I think it was due to this that she was so willing to divorce me. Don't think I'm trying to revile her, my dear, or trying to put the blame for the failure of that on her shoulders. I'm not. I now know that neither of us ever had enough of the right kind of love or affection or respect for one another ever to make the thing a success. It would have ended up this way inevitably. The fact that I was overseas for two years merely delayed the final crash for about three-and-a-half years!

And another thing I thought of, darling. Just suppose people saw you and I together here and knew I was being divorced, they might be led to the conclusion that you were my co-respondent and I never want anything like that to attach to us, sweets. Do you remember how I said I never wanted any of usses to be furtive and surreptitious - well, I still feel the same. But there are dozens of ways we can meet openly, if it is not difficult for you. There’s a lovely spot in Switzerland that I know about. We could meet there. […] And that’s all for now, my darling one. All my love, darling, is yours, and there’s a tremendous amount of it this morning. Oh darling, I do love you so very much.

Louis xxxxxxx

13 May 1916

Darling dearest one, what I'm really trying to say is that from the point of view of my divorce and so on, it wouldn't matter at all how much we met, or how often we were seen together. The only risk would be that she might hear of it and turn vindictive, feeling that I had given her evidence on which she could divorce me because I wanted to marry someone else. As you and I know, that is only a small part of the truth. So don't feel, my dear, that you must stay overseas as long as possible to keep the way ahead clear and safe. Once you were in France, we'd soon think up ways and means of being together often and there would always be a wonderful feeling when we parted that we could meet again soon. And every time we met would be just a little nearer the time when we never have to part again. And if all goes normally from now, it shouldn't be so very long. If the decree nisi comes through in the autumn, the whole business maybe finished next March or April. […] I love you very much, my darling, so come home soon so that I can whisper it into your ear and tell you all the other things about you that I adore so much.

Louis xxxxx

20 May 1916

…Now that proceedings have started, it's wonderful how happy my sister and her husband are that there's you, darling. They were so certain that my life was going to be made so miserable and they are terribly pleased about the divorce, but much more pleased that there is a happy future to look to. All my love darling one, every bit of it.

Louis xxxxxxx

24 May 1916

Oh darling, I get so torn. Sometimes I feel like begging you to try and come home as soon as you can. Then I realize how selfish this perhaps is from your point of view. Because until I'm free, we'd have to be a wee bit careful in our meeting, and I never want any meeting of ours to be furtive and guilty. It was never that way with you and I, and never will be. From the point of view of my people, there is no need for any kind of secrecy because they know about us, and are so happy about it. As I said before, the only risk we'd ever run would be that anyone might see us and tell her, and I'd hate it ever to be thought that you were a co-respondent to me! But when you come home, darling dearest one, I know we'll manage. We were always a pretty resourceful pair, and we'll get around all the snags.

Darling, try and answer this one straight from your heart when the time comes and I'm free and you can tell your people about usses, would it be a frightful shock to them? Will they be so prejudiced about my having been divorced that they'll be afraid I wouldn't make you happy? When I sometimes worry about what a shock it may be to them, I just console myself with the knowledge that once they see us together, they are bound to realize that we were made especially for one another, but I often wonder if this aspect of it worries you, darling one. But all of these things will come right when that wonderful day arrives and we know I'm a free man. The relief felt by a liberated country will be nothing compared with the feeling of relief we'll get. There'll be just no holding us. Darling, I've just been looking again at those last snaps you sent me. I love the one of you sitting, smiling in your blinkers. I'd like to take them off to see les yeux but you look very sweet. Darling, your hands in that snap are lovely. I told you once how much I loved your hands. I love their shape and I love the way you do things with them. […] All my love, my darling.

Your very own Louis xxxxxx

25 May 1916

I've got no great news, but since I can't talk to you, I just can't stop myself writing. Darling, it's so marvelous that there is a you in the world for me to love. Until we met, so much of my future life seemed dreary and empty, and I thought I'd go through it all, and at the end l'd still be feeling that I had missed all the things I hoped would happen to me. Inside myself, I had a very clear picture of how it could feel really to love someone. I made the one big, dreary mistake and realized it so very soon as a mistake but, as long as I was overseas, it didn't seem to matter. I knew a future to be faced and I knew it didn't come up to anywhere near what I felt the future should, but it was all somehow so remote and unreal that I couldn't visualize it, and so I didn't worry about it. Then, after that awful leave, it suddenly became very real and very worrying and something that had to be faced, and it looked so absolutely blank and hopeless that I nearly lost heart, but I realized I could never be ever contented until I was clear of it.

Darling, I just don't know what would have happened if I hadn't met you. I'm sure it was a kindly fate that brought us together. The divorce would have occurred anyhow - but, darling, it would have been so infinitely more bleak if we hadn't found our usses in all my worst moments. Since coming home, I felt you all around me, comforting me with your wonderful, wonderful faith and, above all, loving you has made me realize how very much worth living this life is, and how everything - work and career and enjoyment of friends - depends on feeling happy. Darling, before I loved you, I never believed that continuous happiness was a real possibility. I've often been happy before, and most of the time contented, but all our time together and our time apart, I feel a positive glow of happiness. You are a wonderful person, my darling, that you can do this to a very ordinary but very loving old Louis. […] Good night my own darling. I love you very, very much.

Louis xxxxxxxx

30 May 1916

…I want to see you so much that some days I am so miserable that I don't know what to do with myself. But sweet one, I have promised myself that I will try and stick it out until September, by which time everything should be well on the way and everything so much safer. It's only another three months. Oh, but darling, I do so want to see you. I long to drop everything and just run straight home to you but I know for both our sakes and our future usses this is the unpleasant part that I must play and I must try and do it as well as you have done all yours.

Sweet one, you asked me to tell you honestly if it would be a shock to my people when they heard that I was going to marry someone who had been divorced. Well, I don't really know how they will take it. I think they will be all right once they realize that my mind is so completely made up and nothing they could possibly say or do will change it. I am pretty sure my sisters on the ward will be with us and I know that once they have seen us together and meet you outside of being a former patient, that they will be all for it. Actually, this never worries me at all because the one thing above all the matron admires is someone who can make up their own mind and stand on their own feet and I am sure once she sees how determined I am, she will agree and I am quite confident that once they have met you, all will be well. […] All my love my dearest darling for always and always.

Your sweetheart xx

18 June 1916

…Darling, do you remember, the evening before I left, when I just said goodbye to you by the door and we were walking down the stairs, you suddenly looked back up at me and said, "Darling, I do love you,"? I think it was then that I realized suddenly how big and great our love for one another was, and I don't think after that moment that I ever feared you would cease to care for me. And now that things have gone so well, my beloved, I will just never give you the chance of caring any less, because I mean to live with you beside me for ever more and if you try to resist, you won't stand a chance. And do you know what I'd do, my angel one, if you tried to get away? l'd just seduce you, firmly and deliberately, but very tenderly and lovingly, and l'd give you a baby and you'd have to marry me then, d'you see? Gosh I'm a dirty old devil, aren't I? Darling, I love it the way we can always be so low with each other, but we never seem to be smutty or dirty, like so many other people. I think it's because in spite of our lowness, we are rather a nice couple.

Darling, perhaps when the time comes that you can tell your people about us, it won't be such a terrible shock to them after all. It occurred to me that after a dear friend of mine had his divorce and everything, perhaps they won't think too badly of someone else who has been through it. Anyhow, it may help to soften the blow a bit and they may not feel I'm such a terrible fellow after all. My own darling, this 'ere brooch is the one I got in Bern. It isn't terribly nice and I wanted to try and find one with a much smaller badge on it, but they didn't seem to make them. But I never got you a present from a jewellers before and I felt I wanted to, just as a prelude to that wonderful day that will soon come when we can go together and find a ring to slip on that third finger of yours. Darling, I will just be incoherent with happiness when I'm doing that. […] Good night my very own very lovely darling and promise me you will never forget how much I love you.

Louis xxxxx

25 June 1916

…Oh my own lovely one, it's going to be such fun, doing everything with you and having you to talk to about everything and to help me to decide things. When we've got some money, darling, it will be such fun going perhaps to the Motor Show and deciding on what car we want. But the most fun of all will be our house. This part of the world has heaps of old antique shops among the small villages round about. When we are here to stay with my sister, we'll have great fun stooging off on our own in the car and snooping around them all, and we'll pick up bits and pieces and they'll gradually accumulate.

Darling, when my final decree comes through, how soon shall we get married? I'd like to marry you the day it all comes through, but then when I think of this, I think perhaps people would, or might, imagine you were my co-respondent! And I don't want anyone ever to think that. I don't mind any number of gossipy tongues wagging about me and my divorce - actually very, very few people know of it, but I don't want anyone to associate you, my darling, with anything that is sordid. Probably the best way will be for us to announce our engagement in the ordinary way in The Times and it will be so easy to say we'd met vaguely overseas, and that after I was free, we just happened to meet again in France and fell in love, and there we are.

Darling, won't it be wonderful when we actually see it in print, that you are engaged to be married to me? Darling, we're going to have a wonderful life together. When I'm with you, everything seems so clear and easy. My work seems to go smoothly and I enjoy it, and people I work with seem to be nicer and more interesting, and I don't get the urge to be curt and irritable with indifferent theatre sisters! At least, not as much. Do you remember that poor old girl I used to be so unkind to? But she really was the pits. […] Goodnight, my very own dearest lovely darling. Never stop loving me, because I love you with all my heart. In fact, I love you very much indeed.

Your very own Louis xxxxx

27 June 1916

…And all the legal paper work for this divorce business is now absolutely complete. Yesterday I received an enormous affidavit concerning my means, which I had to take into a solicitor's and have it sworn on oath. They do word these things in an archaic manner - it was full of, "I verily believe that etc., etc.," and I was supposed to be saying it! […] Good night my own most dearest adorable beloved darling.

Louis xxxxxxxxxx

7 July 1916

…Darling, did you think I looked too fat in the last snap?! I didn't send you all those snaps because I fancy myself as a pin-up boy but I want to keep you posted on my changes of contour that occur so that you won't think I've been blown up with a bicycle pump when we meet. But I won't get any fatter, my lovely one; that will be your job when we decide we want some little usses, all exactly like you. You'll be so sweet and tubby and I'll adore you and tease the life out of you and look after you so very carefully. […] Goodnight, my dearest dearest darling. And don’t ever forget how very much I love you, you adorable, lovely darling one.

Your Louis xxxxxxx

11 July 1916

…Lee Gentry was there and I got him away for a while from the crowd - ostensibly to show him something, but I wanted a bit more briefing on my problem and he really seemed to think it's quite likely that the hearing will be expedited. Of course, he had his lucky piece, an old Mexican peso. While he’s not one for superstition, others might say he would’ve lost the whole case without it. So I'm keeping my fingers crossed for us. I also asked him what it’s best to tell people and he said definitely to stall people off until it’s all over and then just tell them that I've had a divorce. If they get inquisitive and ask who did what and to whom and with what, the answer is for them to mind their own hemorrhagic business. He also said it's most unlikely that it'll feature in the headlines. The undefended suits go through at the rate of about a hundred a day and they don't make news. […] Darling, I’m so very, very proud that you should care for me and I love you so very much. All my love, my beloved sweet darling, for always and always.

Louis xxxxx

31 July 1916

This morning your sweet letter arrived with those marvelous snaps of you. Even if you haven't got a colossal opinion of yourself as a pin-up girl, I've got the most enormous one and no pin-up girl in all the world to me could be lovelier than you, my dearest. Darling, they are so good and I love them so much. Darling, you are so very pretty and you've got the dearest, sweetest, loveliest face that I have ever looked on. Did I ever remember to tell you what a lovely shape you are? Darling, I think that’s the sweetest picture of all of you and it's so like you that it's almost alive. Thank you, my darling dearest one, for sending them - they have made my morale soar to unprecedented heights. When I think that a person as wonderful as you, and who looks as wonderful as you do, can even care for me a tiny bit, I know I'm the luckiest man in all the world. As I'm writing this, I've got the snaps spread out all around me on the table and I feel you are very close to me. Darling, I do love you so much, so never stop liking me, will you? Darling, you've got such a sweet face - I could just eat these snaps. You look so fresh and young and lovely and I just can't believe that one day soon we'll both belong to each other for evermore. […] I love you darling with all my heart.

Your very own Louis xxxxxxxx

3 August 1916

…I’ve got all my favorite snaps of you inside my wallet and each day I can put a different one on the top and I can look at it through the transparent celluloid. It keeps you from getting scratched and dirty. It’s a tremendous luxury to have you so easily available all day. Whenever I feel I need you, darling one, I just pull you out of my pocket and I can look at you long and lovingly. Darling, I’m most terribly in love with you and you are so very easy to look at. […] Goodnight my very own darling. I love you very much.

Your Louis xxxxxxx

5 August 1916

…I'm so glad you like the snaps, darling, just as well you like me, my dearest one, because you are going to have to be with me and wake up every morning and see me for the rest of your life whether you like it or not. […] Darling, I seem to be rambling on so much tonight but I did so want to chitter to my love. But I must have a look at my patients, poor devils. I’ll write again tomorrow. All my love, my very dearest, dearest darling.

Your sweetheart xxxx

5 September 1916

…Darling one, I'm never going to let myself get so busy that it prevents us living the kind of life together that we want to and if you do try to keep me in our bed in the mornings, I'll just never be able to get up and won't I love it? Darling one, we always felt so very cuddleworthy early in the morning, so heaven help us when we find ourselves tucked up together in our warm bed. Darling, however small our house may be, we must have a ginormous bath with oodles of hot water and if you are feeling terribly lazy, I'm going to bathe you whether you like it or not. Darling, I ought to be horse-whipped for making such improper suggestions in a letter to the girl I love but, darling, you always gave me an urge to be terribly improper so you've only got yourself to blame for being so lovely and so very cuddleworthy. […] Good night, my darling dearest best beloved and very adorable one.

Your very own Louis xxxx

10 September 1916

…Darling, when we are married to one another you'll never have to sit in bed with a scarf around your shoulders to keep you warm because:

A. When we're usses there'll be very little time or necessity to sit up in bed and to write letters and

B. I'll take the place of your scarf and wrap myself so snuggly round you that your shoulders will be warm anyway and

C. You won't have to write me letters any more because we'll just lie close together in our warm usses bed with a soft pink cloud for a mattress and we'll love chitter to our hearts' content.

And now, my little honey lamb, back to our plans. Even if you feel like strangling me, darling one, for going over it again, here we go just the same, and I'd love you to try to strangle me because both your hands would be engaged in trying to throttle me which would leave me with both my hands free to get up to the most terrible mischief. […] I must go now, my very dearest darling one. Never forget how very much I love you.

Your own Louis xxxxxxxxxx

16 September 1916

…Perhaps I got it when I laid a gentle kiss on your last letter, my love! But I much prefer to take your colds off you by kissing you on your own darling soft lips and that is the technique I'll employ in the future - in the very, very near future. Whenever we caught a cold from one another it was such enormous fun, my darling. When we're usses together again, you'll find me an awful nuisance. I'll put you in a hot bath and then I'll put you to bed and make you inhale and drink hot whisky and aspirins and then, in case you feel cold and shivery, I'll hop into bed beside you, my darling. I'll curl myself tight round you and you'll just have to forget all about your cold. Darling one, I hope it's all settled by the time this reaches you.

D'you remember, my darling, when you had a temperature with a cold? And I made you stay in bed and you were so angry and I came to talk to you in your room - the room next to your real room - and darling one, you looked so sweet all tucked up in bed and I loved you very much. […] Look after yourself, my darling, and never forget how very much I love you, because I love you more than you’ll ever know.

Your own Louis xxxxx

Louis was elevated to the rank of Captain in 1917. He knew how worried you were for him while he was in the trenches or out on patrols for the Western Front, so he kept you up to date with everything that was happening, how he and the men in his regiment were faring, etc., while filling his letters with declarations of his love for you and the occasional racy passage. On 14 January 1918, he gained command from the General and received instructions for a reconnaissance mission into enemy territory. It was very clear that this particular assignment was an extremely dangerous, bordering on suicidal operation. He knew it was doomed to fail from the very beginning, a particular detail he hid from his subordinates. Captain Renault’s fellow officers noticed a change in his demeanor. They put aside their concerns, however, since such behavioral changes weren’t unheard of, given the stressful nature of their situation.

The relationship between French and British soldiers during World War I was complex and evolved over time. At the beginning of the war, there was a sense of camaraderie and solidarity between the two armies, as they were united in their fight against the common enemy. However, as the war dragged on and the death toll mounted, tensions between the two armies began to surface. One source of tension was the language barrier between French and British soldiers. Many British soldiers didn’t speak French, which made communication with their French allies difficult. In addition, the two armies had different tactics and strategies, which sometimes led to misunderstandings and disagreements.

Another source of tension was the perception that the British were not doing enough to support the French war effort. French soldiers still resented the fact that the British hadn’t fully committed their army to the Western Front until 1916, and they believed that the British were more interested in fighting in other theaters of war, such as the Middle East. Despite these tensions, the French and British soldiers did work together closely during the war, especially in major battles such as the Battle of the Somme and the Battle of Passchendaele.

Many soldiers on both sides formed close bonds with each other and exchanged gifts and souvenirs. Overall, while there were certainly challenges, the relationship between French and British soldiers during World War I was one of mutual respect and cooperation. Stevenson and Renault were coincidentally members of the same regiment and decided to play a friendly game against each other. Whatever game they played didn’t matter. All Renault remembered was that they gambled to determine which of them would go out on patrol that evening. Whether he cheated or not was up for debate but, either way, his opponent lost.

Not only was Stevenson of lower rank and serving under Renault’s direct command, he had known him for so many years that he considered him to be his best friend, their bond like that of brothers. Renault insisted that he needed a man that he could trust to carry out the task, so it didn’t take much convincing, regardless of whether Stevenson went willingly or if Renault persuaded him to go. Whatever the case, he eventually left the trenches on Captain Renault’s instructions. His assumptions about the mission were proven correct, and Stevenson failed to return from his patrol.

Renault didn’t know the time but dusk had fallen and still, of course, no word. When he asked any of his men, they shrugged, as if he was asking about when it might next rain. Those fools around him, laughing, drinking, arguing... Did they know what he’d done? Did they suspect it? Renault felt they must’ve all been guilty of something. And yet...they laughed, drank, argued... God knew what he’d done. He wondered if His judgment could be worse than his own.

Renault later found unsent letters in Stevenson’s tent, tucked between the pages of his journal. One was already in a sealed envelope, addressed to his unborn child with instructions printed in big, bold letters that it wasn’t to be opened until his son or daughter turned eighteen. Oh, God. Madeleine… Was she…? Louis didn’t want to disrespect John’s wishes, so he didn’t open the envelope. He put it in his breast pocket for safekeeping. The other letter was addressed to Madeleine, but was unfinished, only taking up half a page and abruptly cut off midway through a sentence near the end. John had to leave it incomplete. As his eyes darted across the words of the half-written letter, a terrible, black pit formed in Louis’ stomach and nearly made him sick. That terrible, black pit only grew bigger and bigger the further down he read. Madeleine. She was. She was! His throat became dry and tickled. He felt bile stirring up, threatening to expel itself from his body. He stopped himself just in time and held it in until his stomach settled. He didn’t feel any better.

Stevenson was writing to her. He was clearly pressed for time based on how uncharacteristically messy some of the letters looked, either smudged or too close together, but it was still legible. In just a few words John expressed that he wasn’t proud of their affair. His feelings for her were genuine, there was no mistaking that. Every word he wrote in his letters, every word he whispered in her ear while they shared a bed were of the utmost sincerity. But he didn’t like deceit and Louis didn’t deserve it. While he knew she and Louis had just recently divorced, he wanted to come clean sooner rather than later. He hoped Louis could forgive them and be happy for them eventually. He hoped they could part as friends or, at the very least, amicably. Regardless, he was excited for their upcoming baby.

14 January 1918

…My darling Madeleine, I have suddenly realized that I’ve never made a will or anything like one, which seems pretty feeble for a soldier who could die at any minute of any day, and you being pregnant makes it even more irresponsible. I’ll do it properly when I get back and tear this up before you ever see it but I’ll feel easier that I’ve recorded on paper everything that I wish to leave to you in the event of my death. I cannot know if our baby is a boy or a girl but I do know it will be a baby. I understand my family cannot know of our baby until we are safely married. But should anything happen to me, you must take charge. You must think of the child, protect them from the scrutiny of society. I don’t want my son or daughter to grow up a bastard, subjected to public shame and ridicule that—

John’s mention of a child being conceived from the affair made Louis feel even worse. He made love to his wife more times than he could count and, while he paid special attention to her reactions and made sure she was more than satisfied, she never became pregnant from any of their unions. In the back of his mind, he wondered if she had been secretly taking something or doing something to ensure she wouldn’t get pregnant from him, but he’d never voice these thoughts and accuse her of such an act.

Next to the journal and unfinished letter was a will, listing everything that John wanted to leave to his immediate family and everything he wanted to leave to Louis and his wife. He worried that if he left anything just to Madeleine, then his family would become suspicious and make inferences about the affair. By including Louis in his will, he deliberately made it appear as if he was being a very good friend who thought of the couple as an extension of his family. He thought ahead and put a safeguard in place in an effort to spare himself, his family, his lover, and her husband from becoming local pariahs. Both letters were written with the intention of being sent only in the event of his death. John hoped they’d never have to be sent, but he had no way of knowing what the future would hold for him. Louis couldn’t let anybody see the unfinished letter. He thought about burning it to ensure nobody would ever read it. But just as he was about to flick open his lighter, he thought of Madeleine and what she would want. If John was truly dead, she’d want to hold onto any surviving piece of him that she could. She’d want to read what could have potentially been his last words to her. So he folded it up and hid it in his breast pocket with the envelope. He left both the journal and will on the desk so that they could be found and sent to John’s family in case worse came to worst.

Whether or not he intentionally sent Stevenson out on patrol to his death, whether or not he was actually at fault, Renault became guilt-stricken and headed out into the battlefield to search for his friend himself, hoping against hope that he was alive somewhere. Following a brief shootout in which Renault stealthily killed three German riflemen with his revolver, he found Stevenson trapped, pinned down in a trench or crater of some sort. He made him drink some of the remaining water in his canteen to revive him. Whatever was pinning the wounded Stevenson down, adrenaline gave Renault the strength to push or pull it off of him and haul him over his back like a sack of potatoes. And then he was running, or at least trying to run, through the battlefield, attempting to get himself and Stevenson back to the barracks, back to safety. Despite trying to hide and duck under cover, both men were spotted by the Germans. An artillery shell landed outside a parapet and blew Renault against the wall, rendering him unconscious.

Captain L. Renault admitted to medical treatment following events of 14 January. Personal effects held in storage locker. Patient remains in weak vegetative state. Will respond to stimuli, but only for brief periods of time. When last roused, he reported no memory of recent events, had trouble recalling even his own name. Most likely due to severity of initial head trauma. Potential cause for concern is patient’s risk of slipping into a coma. Will continue to monitor. If status does not improve in a week's time, recommend transfer to St. Etienne for neurological tests.

Signed - Dr. Florbelle

Renault spent several days comatose in the recovery ward inside a hospital. When he woke up, his memory from the last few days was hazy due to the resulting head trauma, and he had no memory of his wife’s affair, his divorce, or how he even got to the hospital. He didn’t even know its name nor what country he was in. Was he back home in France? Did he get lost and accidentally cross the border? He was so out of it and all war hospitals looked the same to him, so he couldn’t be certain. For all he knew, he could’ve been anywhere in Europe. He’d been heavily sedated, or so it seemed. His mind and body felt heavy and lethargic.

Renault suffered a non-fatal head injury, which was officially diagnosed as a concussion of the brain. This resulted in retrograde amnesia and, while the hospital staff hoped it was only temporary, there was no way of really knowing. But Stevenson was fatally injured due to the damage to his lungs caused by the blast. The doctors determined that he didn’t have long to live. They thought it best that they didn’t tell Renault the truth about Stevenson right away, fearful that doing so would exacerbate his already volatile condition and send him into shock. Instead they told Renault that he ended up in hospital because Stevenson threw himself in front of him in order to save him from the enemy shell and couldn’t take any visitors because he was still recovering from emergency surgery.

A mortally wounded soldier was lying in a cot next to him. The dying man knew his fate was inevitable. There was nothing more to be done. All they could do for him now was numb his pain to the best of their ability with drugs and keep him in a state of sedated relaxation, ensuring he was comfortable as he died. His lungs were failing and beyond help, so he pulled out a fresh cigarette and lighter. He wanted to enjoy one last smoke before he succumbed, but he couldn’t light the damn thing himself due to the extent of his injuries. Renault, not recognizing the man, lit it for him. Once he finished his cigarette, he thanked Renault and asked him to deliver a mercy kill, wanting to be put out of his misery. He’d prefer to die a quick, clean death at the hands of a friend, rather than suffer the pain of a lingering death from an enemy’s shell blast.

Not wanting to be charged with murder, he obliged by smothering the man with a pillow. The man didn’t struggle and, within five minutes, he was dead. He looked peaceful, as if he died in his sleep. Just then, Nurse Haydon, Renault’s assigned nurse, entered the room. She announced the soldier’s time of death and had her fellow doctors and nurses on the ward take his body away. They immediately got started on making preparations to transport his body for his funeral and burial, and had a message sent to the War Department to inform his family.

He wasn’t sure why, but Nurse Haydon reminded him of someone else he met. As Haydon conducted the eye exam, he stared at her. There were so many things about her that felt familiar to him, as if he’d seen the same features or mannerisms on someone else. But when he thought hard about it, he knew it wasn’t his wife he was thinking about. But if it wasn’t her, then who was it? Though he couldn’t remember your name, he remembered your face. He told Haydon that he found it hard to read, so she asked him to just look straight at her as she examined his eyes. She grabbed a light and shined it in his eyes, telling him to let her know if it hurt at all. She asked him to look up for her, then look down and from side to side. She asked him questions along the way, some of which he didn’t know how to answer.

Did he have any pain in his eyes at all or any discomfort when he moved his eyes or if he read? When he said that he was having trouble reading, did he mean that it was uncomfortable to read? Did it cause him strain on his eyes and make his head pain appear worse? Did shining the candlelight cause him any pain? Or did the pain radiate into his head? He didn’t know. It was hard to tell because of his head wound from the shell blast. Did he wear glasses? No, he didn’t, but Nurse Haydon believed that if he was having some trouble reading, he might’ve needed glasses. But there was no way they could provide him with such things there. They just didn’t have the resources. But she told Renault that, once he got home after he was nice and recovered, she knew a good doctor who would be able to prescribe him with some. According to her, his eyes seemed to be working well and appeared to be in good healthy order, apart from his sight problems.

Although, who was the nurse responsible for putting this bandage on? It wasn’t up to standards whatsoever. She asked Renault if he remembered her name or maybe if he could describe her. When he hesitated, Nurse Haydon assured him that the other nurse wouldn’t get in any trouble, but she’d have to be reprimanded. Though the nurse’s name escaped him, he was able to give Nurse Haydon a detailed enough description of her that she knew exactly which nurse he was talking about. She explained to him that the reason she was so upset with the other nurse’s shoddy work is that the hospital had a very strict code of cleanliness on the ward. It was very important to make sure that all bandages and instruments were of the utmost cleanliness and that they were fit to use on the patients. He felt as if he’d had this kind of conversation before, but when? With whom?

Looking at it, she noticed that Renault’s blood was seeping through the bandage. She decided the best thing that she could do was to take it off completely, clean the wound thoroughly and then reapply a nice fresh clean bandage. But first, before she did any of those things, she took great care to wash her hands. She didn’t want to get any dirt or debris into the wound because that would cause further infection. She was gone again for just a few moments before she came back with some fresh bandages and some ointment. She tried to be as gentle as she could be while unwrapping the wound, but it seemed to be quite wrapped up and it was tricky to find where the bandage started and where it ended. Once she got it, she told Renault to tell her if he needed her to stop at any point and if he had any pain or discomfort in any way.

Whenever he hissed or seethed through his teeth, she apologized and stopped, patiently waiting for him to tell her when she could keep going. He was doing very well and was very brave while she disposed of his old, bloody bandages and took a look at his wound unobscured. It seemed to be very sore and very red, so she just allowed the air to get to the wound so it could breathe for just a few moments to help it to dry out a little bit. Just to make it a little bit more comfortable before she put the new fresh, clean bandage on. It was quite the nasty head wound that he had. Even in the twilight the gushing blood glinted red under the lamps of the hospital.

She prepared the ointment and explained to Renault that the bottle she held in her hand was an astringent which was going to help clean the wound and also to help prevent any infection. She poured some onto a clean cloth and, luckily, didn’t need an awful lot. But she warned him that it was going to sting and recommended that maybe he should close his eyes and count to three. No matter how high Captain Renault’s pain tolerance was, he still winced as she counted to three and applied the astringent to his wound. She didn’t want to put too much wrapping on his wound. She still wanted the air to get to it and to allow the wound to breathe. Once she finished rewrapping his head with a clean bandage, she asked him how it felt. Did it feel too tight or loose in any way? Did it feel comfortable? Good. Just before she came in, Nurse Haydon overheard someone talk about Renault’s hearing, so he told her that he was finding it difficult to hear in one ear because of the blast and he was afraid that he was losing his hearing permanently. She was able to assuage his fears, however.

“Don’t fear. I have known many soldiers to regain their sense of hearing once they were back at home. Yes, sometimes the damage can be permanent. But, other times, it’s not so permanent. So I’m going to test your hearing just very, very briefly to see to what extent you can hear. Can you obviously hear my voice now? You can? Every word of it? Most of it. All right. So I’m going to whisper a word in your ears and I want you to repeat that back to me.”

He struggled a little bit in one ear. He could hear her voice but not what she was saying. To him, It was all very muffled like he was underwater. In that case, Nurse Haydon believed his hearing loss could be temporary. She told him that once he went home, had some nice rest, and spent some time with his family, his hearing should return to normal. The last thing she needed to check was his heart and lungs. The hospital had some very complicated equipment, state of the art and only the best for the French and British armies. She explained to him everything she was doing so that he wouldn’t be alarmed. The instrument she used allowed her to hear inside his body and she could determine whether or not his body was working correctly and in the most functional way. He didn’t need to do anything. All he had to do was just sit there peacefully and calmly.

“You have a very strong heartbeat. Very strong. That’s good, yes. Now can you take some nice deep breaths in and out for me? Deep breath in and out, deep breath in and out, deep breath in and out. One more time. Have you been coughing in the night and have you been bringing up any mucus or fluid? Well, it sounds like there’s a little bit of congestion on the chest which isn’t a bad thing. It’s awfully chilly in here and, with your head wound, there may be a little bit of infection in your lungs there, which is nothing to worry about. We’ll just keep an eye on it.”

He asked her to read to him until he fell asleep, even if he didn’t use any words and only communicated by his eyes flickering over to a bookshelf. He had a stack of books next to his cot and not the strength to read one for more than a minute at a time. With the pain it was hard to focus and follow the plot, anyway. He remembered being in hospital once before. A woman would sometimes visit him in the evening and pick up his favorite novel to read to him until he fell asleep. Were you another nurse he knew? When he awoke you always left a note to say when you’d return, signed with love followed by your name. Your name. What was it?

“I suppose I have a little bit of time to do that. Seeing as you find it difficult to read at the moment, then I’ll be more than happy to read you a few pages from one of your books. Any book in particular?”

Louis later found a sealed envelope in his breast pocket of his uniform jacket, which had been kept in a storage locker. The envelope was blank except for the bold, black words that read, “To my child” and “DO NOT OPEN UNTIL 18TH BIRTHDAY.” He stared at the words and fiddled with the envelope between his fingers. Why did he have this? It wasn’t in his handwriting and he didn’t have any children. Who did this belong to? Why was he holding onto it? When he dug further into the pocket, he found a half-written letter. It was crumpled up a bit and the ink was smudged, but still legible. Unlike the other one, this letter didn’t have an envelope to protect it. As he read it, he began to remember. His memory was fragmented and came back to him in bits and pieces over time. It was difficult to make sense of the images that were flashing through his mind at first and he often suffered from severe headaches and migraines. Notes. You left him notes. Notes. Letters made brief. Letters. He wrote letters. To his wife? Yes. And to you, also. Where were they? He had every one that you wrote him kept in a drawer somewhere. At the barracks? In a locker? In a tent? Where were the ones he wrote you? Stuffed in your dresser drawer at home? In a make-up bag in a storage locker to make sure the cleaners didn't throw them out while you were doing your rounds in the hospital? The letters he held in his hands were from John. John who was dead. In one of his hands, Louis held an unfinished letter from a ghost to his lost love. In the other, Louis held a finished letter from a ghost to his unborn child. Louis’ ex-wife, Madeleine, was John’s lost love. And she was carrying his unborn child.

Upon being medically cleared and completing his service, Louis was given an honorable discharge and was awarded with the Legion of Honor, the highest French order of merit for military and civil merits, the 1914-1918 Inter-Allied Victory medal, for serving at least three months in the war zone, and the 1914-1918 Commemorative war medal, for his service in World War I. While you and Louis knew that nothing that happened between you was meaningless, after John’s untimely death, you both made the difficult decision to go your separate ways. Life was pulling you in two very different directions, but you promised that you’d find your way back to each other someday. Due to the circumstances that were beyond your control, goodbye was where your relationship had to remain, at least for the time being. It wasn’t farewell, it was only goodbye. Louis assured you that no matter what happened in your time apart, nothing could stop him from loving you. Until you could be together again, you’d still write to each other whenever you could. When Louis was demobbed and returned to France eight months before the war ended, you stayed on.

You sent Louis some pre-written letters so that he’d still have something from you to read while he was on the train and back home in France, until he could spare the time to sit down and write you again. During the war, you wrote to each other almost every day while you were apart, your missives often decorated with hand-drawn love hearts and always sealed with kisses. With the war nearing its end, it’d be an adjustment for the both of you to not correspond as often. Your constant endearments and promises of love were sprinkled with other, more risque declarations in your letters. Most of your letters revealed a young woman who was faithful to the man of her dreams, despite the attention of other servicemen posted far from home. You eagerly awaited Louis, counting down the days to when you could be together at long last. At one point you wrote that you were so glum and ill-tempered living without your love, adding mischievously,

“Darling one, it's just as well you aren't here as you would probably have to spank me hard - but what a heavenly spanking!”

However, you only show your daughter letters that are “clean” and don’t have such risqué remarks. She’s an adult, yes, but she doesn’t need to know everything her parents got up to when they were young. The very thought of your child reading about your and your husband’s sex life, no matter how “mild” it’s considered through a modern lens, while you and he are still alive, is so embarrassing. You’d rather not be around when she reads those letters. So the more “intimate” ones you’ll keep private for now, between just you and your husband until you both are gone. Nevertheless, the letters you do allow her to read offer an extraordinary window into life during the World Wars. After the end of World War I, men and women put their lives back together and strove to fulfill the dreams they had of a happy future. They did the same at the end of World War II.