Stille Nacht

[chris2c4u]

"There is something to not being able to feel your feet on frozen ground," Thomas Bellion wrote. "At least you don't sink in the mud."

He had taken the scrap of paper from his pocket as soon as he had checked his part of the trench was standing to, the fire step manned by young men still half asleep. More than once Major Bellion had lost a man to a sniper's bullet at this time. A few reports of rifles being fired across no-man's land reached his ears but no one seemed to fall.

Across that space between the trenches at Ypres voices travelled, clear in the frosty dawn, taunts back and forth in English, Belgian and German. He looked up at an eggshell blue sky and licked the stub of his pencil trying to concentrate on finishing his letter to Avelaine. His breath froze as he huddled in the corner of the telephone operator's room. His greatcoat had always been too big for his slight form and it now slipped down over his delicate hands as he tried to write.

"The frost is hard here and we wait, an idle game of death. I'm hoping soon to have time to myself, to get away back to Paris, back to the Kiss. To your arms."

He was about to sign and date it, December 1915 but instead he put the letter away. He had suddenly become reluctant to finish it as it seemed it kept them in touch, Thomas and Avelaine, the words like a gossamer thread linking this tiny part of Belgium still held by the allies, with Paris and a life he once knew.

An orderly came down the trench passing out tots of rum. Men began the daily business of cleaning their rifles as another day began to take shape. Thomas swallowed the rum, feeling its heat thaw out a channel down his throat and belly and he closed his eyes and was back...

The smoke was thick, the dancers finishing their act at Le Baiser Foncé nightclub as Thomas leaned back in his chair, deliberately pulling away from his friend Tanguy's discussion of the merit of a new cafe in Montparnasse.

"All the artists are on the move there," he lamented. "Montmartre - we're just a tourist trap!" He shrugged and squinted through the blue smoke of the cigar clamped in his mouth and drank a tot of rum.

Bellion didn't listen. He adjusted his linen jacket and looked at the stage, where Avelaine, the chanteuse, his lover, was introduced. The crowd applauded wildly and she slowly glided forward. She looked down to his table and gave a wink, her blond hair falling forward a little; he was so pleased at the acknowledgement he couldn't help wiggling in his seat before she began to sing...

"Sir?" the voice shook him from his reverie and he squinted at the young man. He didn't recall the face.

"Post sir," the young soldier said, and wandered off distributing meagre Christmas gifts, cards and letters among the mostly Belgian soldiers.

Eagerly Thomas scanned the letter; for a moment he was disappointed, it had clearly not come from Paris. He tore it open and recognised the large handwriting of his younger sister. She told of life in the family's wartime home in Brittany, away from occupied Brussels.

"I have made a friend - Papa does not approve. He is a sailor, a Briton - they call them Jack Tars!" Thomas smiled wanly, wondering if her friend was still alive since the two weeks the letter had taken to reach him.

"Mama and Papa send their love. They will write soon." Thomas nodded and wondered if they would as he remembered...

"Why, for pity's sake - why do you have to join up?" His father had berated him on hearing his son had taken a commission in the already beaten army.

"We have no country left - the Germans have -"

Thomas stood before his father, who noticed his son's coolness and fell silent.

"We have Ypres," he said. He bent down and picked up a handful of soil. "We have this, our land - to fight for," he said simply. His father nodded, turned his back and walked into their house...

He had written once since and his mother kept up a regular supply of food and drink for her son. Thomas didn't know if they were proud of him, disappointed or simply frightened to think what might happen.

He sighed and took out his own letter again. He raised it to his lips and kissed it before scribbling on it.

"To my darling Ave. Till soon. December 1915." He put it in the envelope and went to find the boy who was dealing with the post.

~~~​

Please join Maid of Marvels and myself as we continue a tale that will not let us rest.

Begun in The Tabard Chronicles as "The Green Fairy" the story of Avelaine and Thomas continues to haunt us.

Here, for the forthcoming season is a tale of a Christmas long ago; read along and comments to either of us in PM's are welcome.

 

[Maid of Marvels]

"It isn't proper for you go go to the market alone," Agathe hissed, her disapproval evident as she chided her charge in a way no other would or will have ever dared. "Give me a list. I will get the items you require."

"I am not shopping for things I require," Avelaine retorted. "Gifts for others may be easily gotten from a list, but not for... " She drew a deep breath, sighing. "Not for Thomas!"

"Then I will accompany you! I won't have you thought of as some common... "

"Whore?" She began to laugh wryly. "But I am, maman. I am." Pulling her fur lined cloak tightly around her slender body, she opened the front door and was gone, a flurry of snow blowing in where she had stood a moment ago.

Over the past few years, Avelaine had shared her bed with a man who had since become King of England; he had gifted her with the fine apartment she now lived in. She'd sung and bedded other Royals as well; gathering as many admirers as she had benefactors. All subject to her whim, of course.

She had become as famous for her voice as she was infamous for her talents in a salon or in a bed; all being quite enjoyable to be sure, but part of a grand charade, nonetheless. A façade she'd created in order to retain her sense of self-determination, the freedom to control her own life every step of the way.

There was, however, one steadfast truth in her life and that truth was Thomas Bellion, the only man she had and would ever love. To allow even her mother entrance into the sacrosanct chamber wherein she kept her heart of hearts safe from the rest of the world would have been akin to sacrilege in her mind... even for something as effortless as buying him a Christmas gift. Besides, Avelaine thought, she wouldn't know what she was meant to buy him until she saw it.

******​

The shops were busy despite the uncommon cold and the war that seemed to have frozen the lives of so many. Only Paris and Montmartre, or so it seemed to her, had managed to keep it's inimitable sense of joie de vivre despite the tribulations of the outside world; business at Le Baiser Foncé and other cabarets was better than ever.

The smiles and cheerful greetings from other habitants of Avelaine's small corner of the universe lightened the dour mood she'd almost allowed herself to fall into after the argument with Agathe. A small bottle of her favorite scent would go a long way to gladden her mother upon her return. Not that Agathe was easily swayed from a bad humor, but she did know her mother better than her mother thought she knew her.

"Mademoiselle!"

Avelaine turned her head to see who had called out to her, for it had certainly been she; there were no other women visible. Peering through the snow, she spotted a vaguely familiar man beckoning with his hand and nodding. How strange, she thought. An outdoor stall in this weather when most others had moved indoors.

"Bonjour," she said, curiosity glinting in her sapphire eyes as she approached the merchant.

"You would like some pretty thing?" He smiled in a way that made her heart fill to overflowing.

"Perhaps," Avelaine replied, eyeing the jewelry on display and noticing how he continued to delicately carve a stone as she stood on the other side of his table. He was wearing fingerless gloves, though his hands didn't look chapped or even reddened. Perhaps he was used to working in all weather. Many were. The artists that used to occupy Le Bateau-Lavoir coming quickly to mind.

Untucking one gloved hand from her muff, she pointed at an ornate cross. Her mother would like that, and if nothing else, its purchase would perhaps provide this man with money enough for a few meals. "This, I think," Avelaine said, prepared to overpay him by at least twice what they would agree to after haggling a while.

The man shook his head. "No," he said, pulling something from the pocket of his leather apron.

Her eyes widened. It was a ring. A man's ring. And, she was sure that it would be quite expensive, though money was no object. Avelaine arched an eyebrow.

"Jade," he said. "If he wears it, it will keep him safe."

What foolishness! she thought. He plans to triple or quadruple the price because of some imagined powers. "I'm sorry," she said. "I think maybe not after all... "

"But I insist," he said, smiling again and pressing it into her hand. "A gift," he added. "For... "

"Jaimer!! I am never letting you out of my sight in weather like this again!!"

Avelaine turned to face Agathe who was bearing down on her like a fast approaching train. Slipping her hands back into her muff, she sighed in mock defeat. "Very well, Agathe. If you insist. Just one more stop I think - to Liliane's shop to see if the dressing gown I had her make has been finished yet."

As the two women walked away, the man smiled and Avelaine's recollection of the entire incident faded with every step she took. She would, in fact, be quite sure that she had purchased the ring in one of the more fancy shops when Agathe discovered it in the deep folds of her muff later that afternoon.

 

[chris2c4u]

The crump of the guns could still be heard underground. Thomas sat on a desk on which lay a map of their part of the front. New red lines were being added to it to show the latest positions of the barbed wire discovered by the teams who ventured into no-man's land at night.

He watched idly and got up to walk around the cramped room, to ease the tightness in his thigh.

"Wound playing up sir?" The Corporal handed Thomas a mug of weak tea; Bellion nodded. The shrapnel would most likely be with him to the grave, the doctors had told him as he lay in the Casualty Clearing Station No. 4. His nights were filled with dreams for many weeks afterwards, nightmares as the man next to him in the advance caught the full force of the shell that exploded. His body had disintegrated and in doing so, had save Thomas' life.

He didn't speak of the event to his wife. She was a good woman, a good mother but also a dynastic choice, made when he was of an impressionable age. It was always understood that the mining family of Bellion and the diamond importers Schloss would come together - and so it was.

So it also was understood that the almost aristocratic young men in such marriage beds would find entertainment elsewhere. They were travellers in the name of business and their wives remained at home. Mistresses were commonplace.

Thomas, though, didn't have a mistress - he had Avelaine, his true love.

She hadn't come to the hospital when he was injured for fear of causing a scandal but the rehabilitation centre was more relaxed and in the summer she had come to him. In the gardens of the Chateau they had found that, apart from some loss of mobility in his hip - all other functions were in working order.

He remembered how she had been over him on the grass, hidden in the small woodland, how her skin was like gold reflecting the sun. How she moved on his erection as she drew a tendril of meadow-sweet into her loose golden tresses and then rested her hands on his chest and bent down to kiss him...

Then they made him ready to die again and he was sent back to Hell.

There was a commotion outside the door of the small room and the local commander, General Carleton walked in, brushing small snowflakes off his coat.

"At ease, everyone," he said and went to the table and studied the map. His took off his cap and put his gloves in it and put it on the table, looking around at the various platoon and section commanders who had come to the briefing.

"Well, as you can hear, Fritz is pretty busy," the general tilted his head up indicating the sound of the shells.

"I'm afraid that there's no easy way to tell you this but those of you expecting to be rotated out of the front for Christmas are going to have to stay on."

There was a murmur of disappointment.

"There's been some hold up with the reinforcements and relieving force - also - there's the possibility that the Bosch and their colleagues might be after trying to sneak up on us while they think our guard is down."

The general again didn't react to the sounds around him. "You'll be out soon enough - just a tactical adjustment. Plus, those of you here will have a chance of some R and R at TocH. I know it's not the loved ones and all that but - this is wartime. Right, carry on."

Thomas sat down again on the desk as people milled morosely around.

"Did you have any plans?" the mapmaker asked Bellion, who nodded without speaking. From behind he felt a hand on his shoulder and looked around to see a British officer, Jack Hedley.

"Sorry Tom," he said quietly.

Thomas shrugged. "There's a war on - the man said."

Jack nodded and patted his friend's shoulder again. He knew that Thomas had been planning on a few days in Paris over Christmas, planning on seeing Avelaine.

"TocH, then?" Thomas smiled and finished the tea. The Brit laughed. "Yes, few prayers and a sing song eh? Still, within staggering distance of the front line - if we get a lift on a motor."

The R and R centre set up unoffically was a little more than that - there was some entertainment - and not only the local girls selling themselves in the barns. Thomas winked at the adjutant and pocketed some "spare" paper; he'd better write to Avelaine and tell her the news.

 

[Maid of Marvels]

Avelaine sat naked on the hearth rug before the blazing fire in her bedroom, Thomas' latest letter pressed to her bosom as she willed some of its heat to reach him. It had been warm when they saw each other last, she remembered...

"A scarf! You silly girl, it is the middle of summer!"

"Not just any scarf!" she pouted indignantly as her hands slid from his neck down either side of her gift. Tugging at the ends, Avelaine used them to pull Thomas closer.

"Ahh! So it is meant to be used to rein me in." Bellion nodded sagely, his hands smoothing up and down her back as he pressed his nakedness against hers.

"No, my darling heart," she murmured, reaching between them. "That is what this is for."

"Indeed," he grinned. "Then it is meant to tie you to the bed so that you cannot escape while I have my wicked way with you?"

Her fingers slipped from his sex and travelled up his chest where she laid the palm of her hand over his heart. "No," she chided. "That is what this is for." Her hand travelled further upward until her fingertips brushed his lips. "And this." They continued their ascent, stopping at his temple. "And this."

Avelaine's eyes narrowed suspiciously when he laughed aloud, certain now that he was teasing her unmercifully. "You are a wicked man!" she exclaimed, her foot moving slowly along the back of his calf as his hands cupped the rounded cheeks of her derrière and squeezed lightly.

He made it up to her, of course -- three more times -- and she had had the chance to tease him unmercifully in return. With the most delightful results.

Avelaine smiled, her body aching for her lover as she wondered if he wore that scarf now. She had made it herself, you see; painstakingly weaving bits of her own golden hair with the fine, sapphire-colored yarn she had used to knit it with. Her colors, she had told him then -- like a Knight would wear his Lady's -- it would keep him safe (and warm) when the weather turned cold. Her time with the Ursulines had not gone entirely wasted.

"It will all be over by Christmas," Thomas had reassured her. "Everybody says so."

She sighed, gazing once again into the flames. Christmas wasn't far off and still the war raged on. Avelaine picked up her pen and, stretching out, began to write:

My darling heart,

The days pass slowly without you and I feel selfish (though righteously so) for resenting the fact that you will not be able to come to Paris after all.

I have had it on good account, however, that Père Noël himself will be delivering some special gifts quite soon - even to naughty boys like you. He credits me for your faults (and that evil Joubert agrees), you see, and so you shall go blameless. Again. Why is it that men seem to always stick together when blaming a woman for their own wicked deeds?

"Oh ho! So this is what you wanted me here for?"

Avelaine jumped as Joubert slapped her ass playfully and peered over her shoulder to see what she was writing.

"It's not for your eyes, couchon!" Turning the letter face down, she sat up, tucking one leg beneath her. They had been lovers at one time, and even now, they felt no shame at being undressed in each others presence. "Will you join me?" she asked coquettishly, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

Joubert tugged at his cravat and leered. "Certainly."

"I can see you have a one track mind," Avelaine grumbled, rising to her feet and grabbing a peignoir from the end of her bed. "All the gifts and parcels are ready to be sent. You promised... "

"You wound me," Joubert protested. "Do you think that is all I want you for? Bribes and a bit of... " He waggled his eyebrows.

Avelaine swept past him into the parlor where Agathe stood, arms akimbo and ready to snap. "He tossed me his coat and hat and... "

Joubert feigned remorse, moving beside the woman who was probably younger than he. "I know, Agathe. I didn't even give you a quick feel. Je suise désolé. Let me make it up to you."

Agathe dodged his groping fingers and glared at Avelaine when she laughed. "Couchon!"

"That's twice in one night," he whined.

"Then it must be so," Agathe countered. "Mademoiselle, is there anything I might get you?"

Avelaine looked at Joubert and nodded. "Café," she said peremptorily. "et je voudrais deux morceau de gâteau"

"Bien."

"Joubert," Avelaine said thoughtfully after Agathe had gone away. "Exactly how did you intend to ship these packages?"

He turned around and glared. "Don't even think it, Avelaine. I won't allow it."

She shrugged. "Tant pis. I don't need your blessing or your permission to do what I want."

"But why?" he asked. "Why would you want... "

Avelained laughed sadly. "Oh, Joubert... That you should have to ask me that means only one thing."

"And that is?" It was Joubert's turn to glare.

"That you have never been in love."

 

[chris2c4u]

Mademoiselle from Armentieres, Parley-voo?
Mademoiselle from Armentieres, Parley-voo?
Mademoiselle from Armentieres,
She hasn't been kissed in forty years,
Hinky, dinky, parley-voo.​

Most of the time, Thomas didn't mind his secondment to the British - however, this was not one of the times.

He looked at the Colonel who had gathered the more senior field commanders together; his face was ruddy, his uniform more tightly fitting than that of those he addressed. He was reading through a list of items, a supposed briefing but Bellion knew where this was leading, as he sat on the edge of a desk in a farmhouse a mile behind the front near Armentieres.

"Now, finally..." the Colonel looked up and cleared his throat. "This comes straight from the top, so it has to be adhered to strictly, to the letter."

Thomas leaned over to Jack and whispered, "He'd know the top from a special angle - how is it you say - he has the brown nose?"

Hedley coughed, suppressing a smile. The Colonel looked around myopically and cleared his throat. "The Command does not want a repeat of events from last year at this Christmas season and I have to read you this direct order." He peered at the paper in his hand again.

"All subordinate commanders are reminded of the absolute necessity of encouraging the offensive spirit of the troops, while on the defensive, by every means in their power. Friendly intercourse with the enemy, unofficial armistices and the exchange of tobacco and other comforts, are absolutely prohibited."

He looked up and cleared his throat. There was a murmur in the room but the Colonel looked uncomfortable; he was a sleek staff officer, kept out of the front line. He didn't know about the front. Another month "on the defensive." Another few months to "the big push" that would finish it all off. Again. Just like last year.

"Carry on," he said, exchanging salutes and dismissing the gathering. Bellion took out a cigarette and tapped it on the silver case his mother had given him. He bent into the lucifer his British friend held up, exhaled a blue wreath of smoke and grinned.

"You'll be keeping your men back, Bellion?" Jack commented, lighting a pipe.

Bellion stood. "I'll follow orders - to the best of my ability," he said, and clapped his friend on the back as they walked out towards the transport that would take them towards the trenches.

****

The officers get the pie and cake, Parley-voo.
The officers get the pie and cake, Parley-voo.
The officers get the pie and cake,
And all we get is the bellyache,
Hinky, dinky, parley-voo.​

The shelling had become lighter from both sides as Christmas Eve approached; Bellion smiled when two "other ranks" walked up a communication trench carrying holly they had got from somewhere.

Turning back to the Lieutenant and the sack in front of them, he said, "as usual, the men you think most deserve them," he said. The gifts came anonymously, even more so at this time of year; packages to be distributed to the "soldiers of the Empire."

"The youngest..." Bellion's gaze ranged out, catching sight of a man barely able to see over the firing step if asked to and he nodded towards him. The Lieutenant didn't need to look around to know the underage soldier Thomas had spotted.

He went on. "The single men - maybe there's a letter from a factory girl in there for them?" He smiled and Lieutenant Gilchrist nodded, his own smile slight. He blew a steamy breath from his pursed lips, remembering his own girl at home.

The Lieutenant passed on the job to the Seargent's and, as it was a quiet morning, Bellion followed one of them as he picked out the youngest, the single, those most in need of the anonymous packages of gifts from home.

Perkins was a popular lad from Leeds, in Yorkshire; he'd joined up with his pals from the factory; no recruiter was keen enough to check his age - 17. He pulled the paper off the gift after everyone had noticed it wasn't the ordinary newspaper but a printed design with holly and robins.

"Hey up, Georgie, mebbe thee'll get sommat from a nice little undermaid at a big house?"

The men, protective of their "kid," crowded around. The cardboard box within was full of a pair of gloves, a small bottle of French brandy, high class chocolate and tobacco.

"By heck, lad, thee's struck it rich," men laughed and Perkins loked around and grinned. He then felt something in the glove and felt inside.

"What's tha got, lad? Note from that maid?"

"No."

Perkins sat still, looking at the small photograph in his hand. Others crowded around and Bellion cocked his head to the side, waiting and wondering.

"Sarge! Seargent..."

The NCO turned from delivering his latest present.

"Thought you said these were the - you know - ones from people we don't know?"

"Anyonymouse," said the Liverpool Seargent. "So?"

"So...how come there's a picture of me Mum in it?"

Everyone crowded round and Perkins was made to get out his tattered wallet and compare the pictures. Bellion approached and the men deferrred to him. He took the pictures, studied them and handed them back. He looked at the gifts - all of them obviously French in origin.

"No - note? Letter?" he asked.

Perkins ransacked the box then shook his head.

"Quite an amazing co-incidence, must be from your family," he said, knowing it could not be; they would not know how to get the brandy, nor the chocolates, the brand he recognised from a Chocolatier from Montmartre.

As the men babbled, he took the wrapping paper and noticed a flowing handwritten short phrase in fountain pen ink.

"Aux hommes à l'avant." He was lost in tracing the script, in wondering if the hand it reminded him of could be...hers...

He pulled out the letter he had received the day before.

I have had it on good account, however, that Père Noël himself will be delivering some special gifts quite soon - even to naughty boys like you.

The men tried to come up with explanations for the first of the Christmas miracles that year.

****

Bellion had passed on the message from high command; he'd also passed on, more circumspectly, what he expected to be done about it - and he was obeyed. He'd also waited for the promised relief time at TocH but that had yet to come, though he and others had heard rumours that there was to be a special entertainer on there at Christmas, someone from Paris. In contrast to the rest of the officers, this made Thomas wonder whether to go or not - to be reminded of what - and, especially, who - he'd be missing in Paris.

Despite his melancholy, when the German lines began to be lit by the Tannenbaum Christmas trees bedecked by candles, when carols were sung, shared by the front lines, he smiled.

Jack Hedley strolled over, the frosty moonlight silhouetting him. "It's going to happen again," he said, simply.

"It is here," Bellion said, "if I can help it."

He went forward and stood on the firing step. Men appeared around him and he looked back.

"Let's try this..."

He looked up and shouted, "Frohe Weihnachten!"

There was a chorus of applause from the opposing front line. "Gud try, Tommy! Happy Christmas!"

The men behind him laughed, and slowly, Thomas Bellion stood higher and stepped out into no-man's land, a clear target in the moonlight.

Mademoiselle from Armentieres, Parley-voo?
Mademoiselle from Armentieres, Parley-voo?
Just blow your nose, and dry your tears,
We'll all be back in a few short years,
Hinky, dinky, parley-voo.​

 

[Maid of Marvels]

Bundled in furs and buried beneath duvets taken from her own linen closet, Avelaine's boot-shod feet rested against heated bricks that were rapidly losing any warmth they had given off at the start of the journey from Montmartre to Poperinge, a few kilometres behind the turmoil of battle on the Ypres Salient. "I don't know what you were thinking," Joubert groused for perhaps the hundredth time since making the arrangements and insisting on accompanying her to Bellion, his own lover left behind in a pout in their apartment over Le Baiser Foncé. "Furthermore," he said, teeth chattering, "I don't know what I was thinking. I could be at home right now, naked in front of the fire with Jules. You could have joined us, you know. One bitte is the same as any other."

Avelaine giggled. "No one forced you to come along, chere. As for joining you and Jules, it is a lovely offer, but I hope you won't expect me to reciprocate with a similar invitation."

"More's the pity," he murmured as their driver turned the Silver Ghost off the road and up the drive of a farmhouse; one not dissimilar to others where they had stopped at to refuel and warm their gelid bones along the way. "With any luck, they'll have brought the privvy seat indoors to keep warm."

Two men ran out of the house as their driver was opening the door of the Rolls-Royce. "Merci beaucoup," she said to him quietly, placing her gloved hands on his shoulders and kissing both his cheeks. There would be gifts for him and his family when he arrived home, and a healthy bonus for the time and risk he had taken to transport herself and Joubert on this leg of their journey.

"Joyeux Noël, Mademoiselle," he replied before turning away quickly. His job was done and it was time to head for home. Smiling, he said a quiet prayer for the beautiful young woman who dared to risk everything for love.

"We will go the rest of the way alone," Joubert told Avelaine as she sat in front of the fire, her feet extended toward the heat of the flames. "Except for him." He nodded in the direction of a small, slender man who was just finishing a cup of coffee. Avelaine nodded and smiled. They had had as many escorts on motorbike as they had had drivers -- in case of a puncture or any other problem -- none of which had, luckily, befallen them.

An hour later they were moving slowly down the Rue de l'Hopital in search of Talbot House, a former home rented by the Brits for use as an Every Man's Club. "At last," a very cold Joubert sighed as he pulled up in front and cut the engine. "We're here." He turned to look at Avelaine who appeared to be brushing her hair. "Women!"

They could hear laughter and singing from inside as they approached the door where a sign proclaimed: All rank abandon ye who enter here. "No worries there, eh?" Joubert said. "Ready?"

Avelaine held him back for a moment, removing her gloves and then her coat. "I hope no one notices these horrible boots," she pouted, her words exhaled in a white puff of steam.

"Believe me, chere," her friend said wistfully. "Your feet will be the last thing these men will be looking at." He sniffled, though Avelaine wasn't quite sure whether it was from the bitter cold or for another reason.

A light snow had begun to fall, and, as Joubert held open the door for Avelaine to pass through, the snowflakes sparkled like so many diamonds in her golden hair. Dressed entirely in white, the chanteuse began to sing:

"Les anges dans nos campagnes
Ont entonné l'hymne des cieux
Et l'écho de nos montagnes
Redit ce chant mélodieux

GloOooooOooooOooooria in Excelsis Deo!"

Within seconds the entire room fell silent as Avelaine continued with the more familiar version of the carol:

"The angels in our fields
Started singing the heavenly hymn
And the echo of our mountains
Repeat this melodious song."

By the time she had reached the final verse, someone was accompanying her on the piano and others had begun to sing along.

"Avelaine!" Her head turned as General Carleton approached her, arms extended. "Gentlemen," he said, harumphing. "I'd like to introduce you to our special guest. Avelaine."

"Sing!" someone called out.

"Yes, sing!" another voice.

She looked around from face to face as a chorus of "Sing! Sing! Sing!" met her ears, yet nowhere did she see the man she had travelled over two hundred kilometers to see. "I'll find out what I can," Joubert whispered in her ear. Avelaine nodded.

As the General led her closer to the fire, she began to sing again:

"O come, all ye faithful,
Joyful and triumphant,
O come ye, O come ye to Bethlehem;
Come and behold him,
Born the King of angels;
O come, let us adore him,
O come, let us adore him,
O Come, let us adore him, Christ the Lord... "

An hour later, she had finally begun to thaw out a little and had also learned that Thomas was in what was commonly called No Man's Land - the area between the two opposing frontlines. "It would be impossible for you to go there," the commander had said.

With her fingers wrapped around a mug of steaming tea, she looked General Carleton square in the eye and replied, "I didn't come this far to see him, William, without expecting to do so. I am here to entertain everyone... As promised," she said pointedly, smiling as she glanced around the room. "but there are still three hours until Christmas and I would appreciate it if you found a way to get me to him." She stood and looked down at him for a moment. "Or I will find my own." Joubert groaned.

 

[Maid of Marvels]

Later that evening...

While the General maintained his position that Avelaine could not possibly go to Major Bellion, she was equally as adamant that she could and would. They were at an impasse and Joubert realized, if Carleton did not, that if he didn't help his protégé she would find a way of getting to her lover on her own. "This is what comes of bringing girls up in convents," he grumbled to Jacques Baert, a man of his own age who had been waxing poetic over his wife of nearly fifteen years and his children who were waiting for him at home. "Those that don't take the veil need leashes to keep them in line."

"I disagree, Monsieur," he said. "All they need is the love of a good man, just as we all need the love of a good woman."

The eyes of both men were on Avelaine as they spoke. "She'll find a way to get to him with or without help," Joubert said quietly.

"Well, then," Jacques said perfunctorily. "Then we must help of course. I think I know a way."

It seemed that there were not only men and soldiers billeted in Poperinge; according to Baert, there were also women and nurses, many of whom drove trucks and ambulances, transporting staff to the front lines and wounded soldiers back. "They pass with ease through the checkpoints, you see?" Jacques added conspiratorially. "So a woman driving an official would not be questioned nor, most likely would he. Especially tonight and especially with a little... " He nodded toward a bottle of cognac, one of several that Avelaine had brought with them.

"I will get the mademoiselle some clothing and you... " Jacques leaned in close and whispered. "You will borrow an overcoat and hat from l'Anglais."

Joubert wasn't sure that he liked the idea and was positive that he liked the risk even less, but he didn't seem to have a choice, did he? Well, of course he did, but could he look Avelaine in the eye if she survived this hare-brained scheme without him? He shuddered to think, though he sincerely hoped that the firing squad they assigned him would have good aim.

An hour later, they were on the Allies' side of No Man's Land. It was nearly midnight.

Dressed in a nurse's uniform that had been commandeered from a young woman named Albertine Pomeroy, with Joubert dressed in purloined General's garb, Avelaine stepped from the Silver Ghost and began walking toward what had been a killing field, a front line, just hours before. Now, the frozen breaths of men, the sound of voices raised in song and conversation covered her approach -- even so, she began to sing:

"I just can't make my eyes behave;
Two bad blue eyes,
I am their slave,
My lips may say,
"Run away from me,"
But my eyes say,
"Come and play with me!"
And you won't blame
Poor little me, I'm sure –
For I just can't make my eyes behave."

 

[chris2c4u]

Thomas stepped onto the rough ground and looked forward. Huddled forms, like moving clods of earth in the moonlight, began to rise up from the trenches ahead of him. He walked forward, the men now following behind.

Leading the German soldiers was an officer. Thomas stopped and saluted, then smiled and held out his hand.

"Happy Christmas."

"To you too," the erstwhile enemy replied as the other men began to greet one another, exchanging cigarettes and showing each other pictures of family back home.

The moon hid for a few moments behind scudding clouds as beer and tots of rum were being shared. It was then that a voice floated on the breeze, a voice that made their own chatter fade away. They looked around for the source and then the moon came out again.

The woman in the nurse's uniform approached from one of the British communcation trenches; unseen hands had helped her onto the frozen soil of No-Man's Land; later, when that night became myth, she had miraculously appeared, or some told their grandchildren that she flew.

Perhaps it was Perkins who unwittingly started it as he stared and breathed.

"Bloody 'ell - an angel!"

The moonlight caught Avelaine's loosened hair, caressing the strands with cool silver fingers, giving her the appearance of a halo.

All eyes were on her as she sang and walked slowly, steadily to the middle of the little group of men. Some stood back until they formed a horse-shoe shape around the vision; all except one.

Avelaine stood before Thomas Bellion and sang, her voice more beautiful than ever as she smiled, the words of the old song drifting up in the smoke of her breath, drifting into silence.

Slowly, one man, then another, started to clap and to cheer.

Avelaine stepped closer to her lover and took his head in her hand. she grinned impishly. "What's this, you're turning into a sheep?" She let her thumbs run up and down the balaclava he wore underneath his officer's cap.

Thomas smiled, then laughed and stepped closer. "Sorry about the coat and..." he didn't say anymore but pulled her close and embraced her tightly, his face against the warmth of her neck. She held him for minutes and the men clapped and cheered again; she held him until he stopped silently sobbing against her, in between whispering, "Ave, Ave," as in the prayer: Ave Maria.

She stepped back. "Now, before I get reacquainted with my friend," Avelaine said, evoking as she had hoped the cat calls of the men while Thomas wiped his face on his sleeve, "let us sing!"

She did popular songs of Paris, old favourites and then two carols to finish. Padres from both sides led prayers and as they finished, Thomas and Avelaine linked fingers and slowly walked back to the communication trench. as they did so, a chorus rose from the German lines, with English words threaded through as the men realised they knew the song.

Stille Nacht, heilige Nacht,
Alles schläft; einsam wacht
Nur das traute hochheilige Paar.
Holder Knabe im lockigen Haar,
Schlaf in himmlischer Ruh!
Schlaf in himmlischer Ruh!​

****

Joubert wiped furiously at the windscreen of the Rolls and then stuck his head out of the window.

"Thank God! My feet are frozen. Some officious clod wouldn't let me keep the engine running..." He stopped moaning when it was clear that the two figures approaching were much too interested in one another than in his complaints. However, when they came up to him, Joubert wrinkled his nose.

"It is good to see you mon ami, though your odour leaves something to be desired."

"My humble apologies, Joubert," Bellion grinned, "There are few perfumeries out here and perhaps even fewer baths," he said.

Joubert tilted his head to one side and shooed the couple into the car.

****

The place Joubert had found for them to stay before they left Paris was, remarkably, still a hotel and not requisitioned. Several war correspondants stayed there and it did have a bath and a laundry. A fire was laid and burning in the hearth, warm water was available on tap. Avelaine left Thomas' uniform to be cleaned and deloused and she set about cleaning him.

She knelt, naked beside the free standing enamelled bath and poured warm, scented water on Thomas' body, keeping to herself her worries over his loss of weight and the scar on his hip. Her hands ran down his back, a soft sponge and flannel cleaning away grime before she replaced the water and climbed in with him.

Thomas sank into the new water and pulled Avelaine alongside him, pushing damp strands of hair from her face and kissing her repeatedly. She ran her hand gingerly down his side, over his scarred hip.

"That doesn't hurt?" she whispered. He shook his head and they kissed again, deep and long. She moved against his body, feeling his hardness caught between them as he reached for her breast, squeezing it, lifting the ripe bud of her nipple to his lips, listening to her breath catch as he suckled her.

She pushed herself up on one arm, then to her knees, the water running down her skin; she flicked back her wet hair across her shoulder and stood, offering him her hand. He stood and they stepped from the water, drying each other with warm towels.

Still holding his hand she led the way back into the bedroom and knelt in front of the fire waiting for him to join her. On their knees together they kissed again and she lay back her eyes flicking over his body as the light from the fire copied her gaze.

Thomas smiled and ran his fingertips gently on her cheek as he bent over her and kissed her, as she looped her arms around his neck, her thighs parted for him to settle on her. She felt his erection pressed against her pussy, his mouth again claiming her nipples. She ran her hands in the hair on the back of his head.

He moved, lifting slightly, his eyes on hers as his hardness nudged her soft folds. She reached down and grasped his cock; his nostrils flared before he kissed her hard on the mouth, before he broke the kiss and looked at her again and slowly, gently, entered her body.

She reached around him, pulling him down and inside her deeply. They moved together, with soft cries with quickening movements. He thrust harder, she rose to meet him in time with his movements. Soft regular mewls emerged from her throat as he drew deep breaths, tried to say her name and bit and sucked her soft flesh on the hollow of her neck.

He marked her, he thrust; their first lovemaking for months ended after a few minutes. They breathed deeply, hard, lying tangled together amid the fallen stars of their orgasm.

There would be others, that night and the next day...

 

[Maid of Marvels]

Avelaine stood at the window, watching the snow falling, hiding the ugliness of war beneath a forgiving blanket of white. Christmas, she thought. It would all be over by Christmas. Everyone said so and still... "Joyeux Noël, mon chéri," she murmured to Thomas as he slid his arms around her from behind, cupping her bare breasts as she leaned her head back into the crook of his neck.

"You must be cold, Avelaine." His lips teased the curve of her neck as she giggled girlishly, squirming with delight as Thomas swirled his thumbs over the adamantine tips of her nipples. "That isn't why... " But Thomas already knew why, one of his hands already sliding down her body toward the nest of golden curls between her legs.

"Insatiable," she whispered, turning in his arms. "Naughty man!"

"Mmmhmm... " He lowered his face toward hers, as hungry for her lips as he was for her body. Lost in the shining sapphires that were his lover's eyes, his own widened in surprise when she pushed him away, shaking her head. "No?"

"No." Avelaine backed away laughing as he reached for her. "It's Christmas and... " She pointed toward a mountain of presents and a single branch of pine decorated with her earrings. "You see? Père Noël has come!"

"Ahhhh... " Bellion said, knowing that somehow Joubert had brought the gifts, but preferring Avelaine's version. "I wonder if he has brought anything for you? Coal and... sticks, perhaps?"

She glanced naughtily at his erection, a thrill of desire coursing throughout her body. "Keep your... stick," she quipped, feigning an indifference she most certainly didn't feel. "The presents come first."

"Very well, Madame," Thomas sighed forlornly, his eyes caressing the body she was so cruelly denying him. "As you wish."

Of course it wasn't as she 'wished', but there would be time enough for lovemaking once he had opened the packages. "This one first," Avelaine said, handing him the largest package in the pile.

They sat together in front of the hearth as he tore the paper off and threw it into the fire. He grinned and she blushed, suddenly realizing how silly it was. A burgundy satin dressing gown trimmed in black velvet.

Sensing her embarrassment, Thomas stood and slipped it on, tying the sash around his waist. "It is merveilleux!" he exclaimed, walking away and back again with an exaggerated swagger. "Now all I need is a... " Avelaine handed him the next box. "Pipe!"

"Meershaum," she nodded, grinning as he opened the case and lifted it out, a look of sudden comprehension spreading across his face as he examined it.

"It's... " He peered at the face of the mermaid carved on the bowl and back at Avelaine. "How can I possibly smoke out of this?" he asked.

She handed him another box, this one containing a leather pouch full of the finest Turkish tobacco. "There's more, but... " Her sentence went unfinished as Bellion took her in his arms and kissed her deeply.

"Don't you want... " Avelaine pointed toward the remaining gifts.

"I do," he murmured, reaching between their bodies to tug at the sash of his robe. "But not... "

Avelaine's hands slipped beneath the smooth satin and walked her fingers up his chest. "Perhaps... " she grinned. "Just this once. For a little while."

Bellion nodded solemnly and lowered Avelaine to the floor where he slipped between her legs with practiced ease. It would be more than two hours before they returned to opening presents.

Heavy socks and underthings, gloves and woolen sweaters to wear beneath his uniform. Chocolates, tea and coffee. Dried and smoked meats and aged cheeses. His favorite cakes. She had even brought him a new pair of boots. "Won't I look elegant," he teased, gesturing toward the clothing. "Dressed in all this with my robe and pipe!"

"Indeed," Avelaine enthused. "But there is one more thing." Thomas' eyes widened yet again as she handed him the last, and most important, of the treasures she had brought him. "If he wears it, it will keep him safe." The words came back to her as Bellion pressed the catch and the small velvet box popped open.

"You must wear it always," she said as she took it from him and lifted the the ring with its exquisite jade setting out. "Promise." Thomas nodded as she slid it onto the third finger of his left hand, which had been previously unadorned.

 

[chris2c4u]

The morning came, a dreary grey gradually spilling onto the hapazard dusting of snow that had fallen.

Thomas sat in the uniform that had been cleaned as best it could be, beside Avelaine at the breakfast table. They tried to speak of inconsequential matters. Joubert had elected to leave them alone until the time he should offer to take him back closer to the front.

They ate and murmured about the food. Between mouthfuls they held hands and Avelaine played with the ring that now adorned Thomas' finger.

"It's the strangest thing - I can't think where I got it. I was with mother..." she frowned and shrugged, with a smile.

"It is beautiful," he said, simply.

Minutes trickled by, unstoppable as grief. They stood as a maid appeared, mouse like and quick, gathering up the things as they remained standing together. Thomas smiled and looked to one side at the bulging knap-sack filled with her gifts.

"I'll probably share some of the food," he said, trying to speak normally. She lifted a hand and turned his face back to hers; they saw tears in each others eyes.

"Write," she said, quietly.

He nodded and held her tight. He drew a ragged breath and they walked to the hall. Joubert stood in his normal clothes, bundled up in great coat and scarf, a hat pulled down over his ears.

Thomas stopped and grinned broadly and then laughed.

Joubert frowned. "What?" he spluttered from behind the turqouise scarf.

"Mr Toad I presume? Off on the open road?"

Avelaine giggled and Joubert turned on his heel. "I will see you outside." He waved his hand imperiously for the porter to carry out the last of the bags to the car.

"You won't be in trouble will you," Avelaine asked, "leaving like we did?"

"No - they are good friends, they will cover for me. Plus they will all be still talking about the Christmas angel who arrived, breaking the silence of the night with her golden voice."

They got into the car and Joubert set off. He managed to get within half a mile of the front before he was denied any further progress due to the broken ground and patrols who turned them back. In the distance there was a lessened but still daunting sound: shells were again beginning to fall.

Thomas looked at Avelaine, his hands running through her hair, his thumbs stroking the soft skin of her face as he tried to burn the memory of her onto his mind.

"You know." he said and she nodded, not needing the words he spoke next to know.

"You are my true love. My one love. My heart."

She leaned forward to hold him, to kiss him. There was a sudden snaking of cold air around them as Joubert opened the door. They stepped out and Thomas embraced his friend.

"Soon, I will visit you - Le Baiser Foncé. Have the champagne on ice."

Joubert waved him away, swallowing his own tears. "Of course my boy, of course."

Thomas held out his hands to Avelaine and she took them, her fingers playing with the ring.

"Wear it always. It will keep you safe."

He nodded and began to walk down the frozen track, saluting a couple of passing soldiers. Joubert and Avelaine stayed until they couldn't see him every few yards turn and wave. It was a long drive back to Paris.

 

[Maid of Marvels]

Their return to Paris and Montmartre was longer, colder, and devoid of the anticipation Avelaine had felt on the previous trip; Joubert keeping to himself as did she.

"Shall I come in?" he asked when the car arrived in front of her apartment on the cobbled Rue des Saules.

"Non." Avelaine replied curtly. She didn't offer him a cheek to kiss, not yet ready to feel the touch of lips that were not her lover's own.

The front door was thrown open barely before Avelaine had placed one frozen foot on the ground and Agathe was scurrying toward the Rolls Royce, barking orders regarding the placement of her charge's parcels even as she railed on about the inhuman conditions that Joubert had exposed her to.

"Ahh... " he had replied, nonplussed. "You are exquisitely arousing when your face flushes that way, Agathe. I am frozen and would not be averse to being warmed between your thighs."

"Pah!" she cried over her shoulder as she led Avelaine inside. "What use have I for a thawing icicle?" They could both hear Joubert's booming laughter as the door slammed shut behind them.

"Enough fussing, maman," Ave protested as her mother brought her to stand before a blazing fire in the small parlour. Her eyes flickered briefly over the burnished oak Louis XV sideboard which held assorted bottles and glassware, its central attraction a Legler-Pernod absinthe fountain with six taps surrounded by six Pontarlier-style reservoir glasses. Crossing the room, she contemplated the pot au cuilleres filled with spoons designed with intertwined leaves of the wormwood plant as her fingers caressed the edge of a silver dish filled with sugar cubes.

"Jamais!" Agathe exclaimed in horror. "Have you forgotten Jarry or Lautrec? I will not permit it!"

Avelaine blinked, any thoughts of dreaming herself away to Thomas shattered by the screeching harridan beside her. She sighed.

"Come. Let me help you undress and into the bed with you. I will bring chocolat." When she returned, Avelaine was sound asleep.

It was nearly a week before a letter from Thomas arrived. She had, of course, been imagining the worst and even considered asking Joubert to take her back. Avelaine clutched the missive to her breast, her tears of relief having blurred the ink on the pages until they were barely legible.

"Now will you dress?" Agathe nagged. Avelaine had worn little save for Bellion's dressing gown since her return from Belgium and it was a wonder to her that her daughter had even bathed. No woman, at least in her opinion - and she gave if freely and often - should be so enamored of a man to the exclusion of her own enjoyment in life. All callers had been turned away since her arrival back in Montmartre.

Avelaine blinked at her mother and grinned. "What are you on about now, old woman? Get my things ready. The deep blue, I think. I am going to the Baiser!"

Agathe clicked her tongue reproachfully but did as she was told, attending to her daughter's toilette as if she were the Queen. And, she thought, of Paris society she might just be.

 

[chris2c4u]

Leave was in short supply and Thomas had to share his time between his family and Paris. his father was incapacitated early in 1916 by a stroke and he was given some time to organise the business, which his mother took a hand in running. Her formidable nature now found a new outlet in commerce. Thomas smiled over her letters, telling how she had managed to cow another of the old men, the ones the war had left behind, into an advantageous deal. The enterprise was in safe hands and she promised him work that suited his nature on his return.

His second son was born early in 1917, the fruit of a late night with cognac and a wife he would never love but would not humiliate by causing a scandal and leaving her. He didn't mind; he felt he was destined to have the children, that they would stay together. Of Avelaine - what would become of them?

The fleeting moments in Paris were his consolation during the war as were the flow of letters between Avelaine and himself. Some nights before an attack he would re-read them, he would remember their times together and wonder if he would see her again.

Some would never again see the ones they loved. Jack Hedley would not see his sweetheart again, blown to pieces in the last offensive. Caisson would never go back to his thin fishwife jawed spouse and his barbering trade; they had listened to him dying for hours in no-man's-land until, one bleak dawn his voice faded with the growing light.

When the tanks arrived and the front line fell back, thomas began to wonder if he might not survive after all. That was just before the battle that took Private Perkins - a few months after he was of legal age to fight.

****

Paris, December 1918.

Thomas was gaunt, the uniform ill fitting and loose. He had had money wired to him so that he could go home via Paris.

"Will sir be keeping his uniform?" The tailor asked who he visited as he measured him for new clothes.

He looked in the mirror at the first fitting of the suit and smoothed the lapels and at the bag in which the object of the discussion lay. For some reason he had carried it with him since ordering his new suits and wearing ready-mades until they were completed.

"No. Have it burnt." He never went to a military reunion nor visited Ypres ever again.

Now - he was ready. He had written to Avelaine that he was on his way but he didn't want her to see him in the uniform, didn't want her reminding of the horror. He adjusted the pale fabric and nodded to himself in the mirror. "Tell me, is there a place where I might buy a good walking cane nearby?" he asked the tailor.

There was a dusting of snow as Thomas climbed into Montmartre. Lights were showing again, the clubs were open; around the Moulin Rouge gaudy posters clamoured to announce the Christmas shows. The little maze of alleyways was familiar and there, too, sat the Baiser Fonce, it's facade proclaiming joy. A Christmas without war.

Joubert smiled when he saw his friend; Thomas had telegraphed the proprietor that morning and arranged to meet, to check that Avelaine would be on stage that evening.

They embraced and Joubert wiped a tear from his eye.

"Back safe and sound my young friend." He held Thomas's upper arms and looked him up and down from cravat to hand made shoes. "And in some style." He clapped his hands on Thomas' arms again and grinned.

"Come, inside - I arranged a little something - I hope she took the hint."

Thomas breathed deep of the smoke inside the door and let his eyes grow accustomed to the yellowy subdued light. He took a Turkish cigarette from his silver case and noticed the changes in decor. The paintings had changed in style; the more modern, abstract works now predominated. Their artists still congregated in the corner and talked. A prostitute sat with them, warming herself bythe fire and hoping for a lucrative night.

Joubert ushered him forwards to a table to the side of the stage where dancers performed, a little clumsily. Patting Thomas' shoulder, Joubert ordered the champagne and two glasses before going on stage himself almost before the dancers were finished.

"Now, a special treat for us all at this most happy time of a year in which we have all to be thankful our nation triumphed against it's enemies and that peace again has come to Europe. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Avelaine."

The piano played sultry chords and clapping and cheering accompanied Avelaine onto the stage - in a blue dress.

Thomas bit his lip and ran his left hand over his chin. He felt the cool metal on his finger and glanced at it; the jade in the ring sparkled for a moment and he ran his right middle finger over it before pouring a second glass of champagne.

 

[Maid of Marvels]

As the lights in La Baiser Foncé dimmed, a spotlight shone on Avelaine. At thirty-eight, she was stunning, a mellow ripeness had slowly transformed her from a beautiful girl into a sublimely exquisite woman.

As she smiled and thanked the customers for their enthusiastic greeting, the pianist - the same man who had rarely left her side after their meeting in Le Chat Bleu nearly twenty years earlier - tinkled the keys. "Bon soir, mes amies et mes amoureux," she began. "I'd like to introduce you to my accompanist, Monsieur Claude Fourchet!" She grinned as he bowed deeply and immediately began to play.

Avelaine faltered as Claude began the intro, puzzled by the fact that it wasn't the song they had arranged for her to sing first. In fact, it was her signature number... the song she always sang at the end of every evening she performed. Realizing that Claude never made a mistake, she decided to play along, her eyes scanning the audience as her sultry voice offered:

"I just can't make my eyes behave;
Two bad blue eyes,
I am their slave,
My lips may say,
'Run away from me,'
But my eyes say,"

Avelaine paused, tears welling in her eyes as her voice deepened, and intensified. She had seen him! Stepping off the stage, she wove her way through the tables, the spotlight following...

"'Come and play with me!'
And you won't blame
Poor little me, I'm sure –
For I just can't make my eyes behave."

Thomas stood, lifted his glass of champagne and whispered... "Chanteuse."

Avelaine, oblivious to the people surrounding them, kissed her lover deeply before holding him at arm's length. Although they had written as often as possible, they hadn't seen each other frequently over the past three years. When had that gray crept onto his temples, she wondered. When had his eyes grown so weary? "Joyeux Noël, mon vieux," she murmured.

"Joyeux Noël, Ave. Je t'aime," he whispered back, his voice hoarse with emotion. They had gone full circle once again, he thought as she began to sing.

"Stille Nacht, heilige Nacht,
Alles schläft; einsam wacht
Nur das traute hochheilige Paar.
Holder Knabe im lockigen Haar,
Schlaf in himmlischer Ruh!
Schlaf in himmlischer Ruh!"

 

[chris2c4u]

Thanks to those who read along with a visit to two characters we'll no doubt meet again in their travels through time. Thanks to Maid as usual for brilliant writing.