It had been a strange summer. Our tomatoes had hung heavy and ruby red, honey seeped from fallen oaks in the forest, and the basil from the garden was thick as thieves. As autumn had crept in with brittle fingers to pluck the woods clean, apples fell like rain in our orchards. We reaped plentifully from our lands the year that Berchta invaded. It didn’t feel right somehow for life to be so abundant while our young men were being slaughtered by the thousands on the frontline.
The Berchten soldiers were the first young men we had lived beside in years. Once Berchta had violated their non-aggression pact, our government had wasted no time with volunteers. The conscription of healthy males between the ages of eighteen and thirty five years old was implemented immediately. After the last war, our people weren’t going to take any chances. We knew Berchta had been militarizing for the past decade. Regena had some catching up to do when we met in combat. Not that it mattered anymore, the enemy had won.
“I feel nauseous every time I go into the village,” I whispered harshly to Theda as we darned socks at the kitchen table, “They are everywhere. Like fleas. What’s worse are the girls who act as though they aren’t the ones killing our men. Throwing themselves to the wolves like cheap meat.”
Theda glanced up from one of Edgar’s stockings, “No different from the last war. Lonely women do stupid things.”
Theda had been our family nanny since Sid was a baby. Now that it was only Edgar and I left, she was reluctant to leave us as our other servants did when the Berchtens finally broke the line. Theda sighed heavily, her weary gaze drifting over to the fireside. Edgar sat in front of the hearth playing with his toy soldiers and flipping through Sid’s adventure novels from when he was a boy.
“It’s almost like peering into the past, Edgar over there with those books. He looks so much like Sid,” Theda murmured sadly.
My finger slipped and I stabbed myself in the thumb with my needle. I brought it to my mouth and sucked away the spot of blood before it could ruin my sewing. Squeezing my eyes shut, I willed away the bright pang of anguish hovering at the edge of my mind. No time for grief when the enemy was at your front door. My tears for Sid would have to wait.
“Edgar?”
My eyes snapped open at the concern welling Theda’s voice. She was rising to her feet and anxiously staring at my brother. Edgar glanced over his shoulder at us and tried to hide something under his sweater vest.
“Edgar, what do you have?” I demanded as I stalked towards the fireside.
“Nothing,” he muttered, trying to look busy with a miniature train.
“That’s a lie,” I held out my hand, “Give it here.”
Edgar groaned but reached up into his shirt. He pulled out a pistol and calmly set it in my palm, “I was going to give it back, Georgie. Honest.”
“Where did you get this?” I demanded, unloading the weapon and setting the safety.
Edgar got to his feet, hanging his head. He kicked a row of toy soldiers and they fell over as if before a firing squad. “I nicked it.”
I scoffed, slipping the bullets into my apron pocket, “From where?”
Edgar peered up at me with his mute grey eyes, “The forest.”
My brow furrowed as I studied the weapon. This was not a gun for hunting animals but men. There could only be one explanation. Its prospect both chilled and excited me.
“The Resistance.” Theda breathed.
My gaze whipped over to Theda. The old woman’s countenance was shining, her wide eyed expression reading only hope. The swell of promise filled my soul, the first I had felt since news of Sid’s death and my father’s capture had come to us.
A knock at the door left me as winded as a punch to the gut. Theda rushed forward and grabbed the pistol from me. She shoved it into her sewing basket and latched shut the straw lid.
“Come along, Edgar. It’s time you were in bed,” she hurried him towards the servants bedrooms that we now occupied, “Georgiana, if you could get the door?”
Exhaling slowly, I smoothed my hands over the kerchief covering my wheat gold braids and strode towards the main foyer. We hadn’t used the front door in almost a year. The bullets in my pocket bumped against my thigh as another firm knock echoed through the shadowy hall. I picked up a taper on a nearby table and lit it. Snapping back the bolt, I inched the door open.
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A uniformed Berchten stood at attention. He tipped his hat to me and gave a handsome grin, “Is this the Roux household?”
My heart thudded painfully against my breastbone, “It is.”
“Are you Mrs. Roux?”
“Miss Roux,” I wet my lips, “How can I help you-“
“Lieutenant Maxim Gruber,” he drew closer to the door and jutted out his dimpled chin as his gaze soaked over me, “I have been billeted with your family. May I come in?”
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