Title: Return to Vorlan
Rating: hard R/NC - 17
Story Contains: flashbacks to war and violence, mentions of graphic violence, mentions of rape, kissing, making out, foul language, speaking of French
Chapter Contains: mentions of war and effects of war, foul language, speaking of French
Summary: Carla More moves to Vorlan with her father, hoping to make a difference in a war - torn country. Then she meets a boy who ends up changing her.
A/N: This is my first big original fic project. Comments on it are really appreciated. Translations of French are after the chapter. Keep in mind that I am just a student of French and may not know all the nuances of French.
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Chapter 1: Are You Afraid of the Dark?
“Carla! You need to start loading the trailer!” my dad hollers. “We need to be on the road in a couple hours!”
I just nod my head and take my last pictures of the house. It’s the only home I’ve ever known, and I’m still trying to get used to the idea that I might never see this house again.
Ever since the war in Vorlan came to an official end about a year ago, my church had been talking about doing a long - term mission trip there and trying to help rebuild the country. My dad was one of the first people to sign up, because he’s a French teacher and the common language of Vorlan is French. He’s been teaching me French ever since I was old enough to form complete sentences, so I’m not worried about a language barrier.
I’m just completely terrified that my dad is going to bring me into a war zone just so he can help some people he doesn’t know. I mean, I’ve helped out at the soup kitchen with the youth group, and I collected money for the Haitian earthquake victims, but I’ve never gone on a mission trip before, much less one in a war zone that will probably last for years.
Oh, well. It’s not like I have much choice in the matter. My grandparents offered to let me stay with them, but Dad insisted it was a once - in - a - lifetime opportunity, so they gave me a stationery set and a writing set and told me to write often. I don’t know if I’ll write as much as they’ll probably expect, because I’ll just be so busy with school, plus all the mission work. A letter a week, tops.
I went over to see Sam two days ago, and said goodbye to him. He’s the only other family member left since Mom died, and I wanted to make sure he knew I still considered him family. Then he and I went to Mom’s grave and I said goodbye to her. I envy Sam that; at least he can see Mom whenever he wants. I can only go see Mom if Dad lets me or I go over to see Sam, and I don’t want to depress Sam by making him go to the cemetery to see his dead wife every time I visit.
“Carla Jane!” Dad hollers. “Get your stuff in the trailer! We have to leave, like, two minutes ago!”
I sigh, “Alright, Dad. Coming.”
****
Queen’s “Fat Bottomed Girls” blasts over the speakers, and Chuck rolls the windows down so he could be obnoxious. Oh, yeah, I’m definitely going on a church mission trip to a war - torn country with my youth group.
Dad let me ride up in the youth group van with the implication that I would behave. I had no intention of doing any such thing, but I wanted to hang with the youth group. Plus, Dad hadn’t really told me much about what was going to happen in Vorlan, so I wanted to hear everything from Dan, our fearless assistant youth group leader.
All I really know is that we’re going up there to help build houses and help out in other ways. Dad and I are staying for a whole school year (at least), like most everyone else, though Chuck and his fiancee are only staying half a year, because they want to have their wedding in the States with their families.
“Well, they’ve got shelters that we’ll being staying in, since the houses are being re - built for the residents of the town,” he tells us. “The kids you’ll be going to school with will be quite a bit older, because school was interrupted on account of the war. Oh, and there’s a curfew for the country. You all have to be inside a house or the shelter by 6 P.M.”
Chuck looks up into the rearview mirror and says, “You’re fucking joshing us. No country does shit like that.” Dan gives Chuck an icy glare for the profanity, but then continues:
“For one, a curfew like that saves on electrical expenditures, because business can’t be open after that hour, obviously. Also, it makes it easy to spot who’s still trying to keep the war going, because you can only do that kind of work under the cover of darkness. Finally, it keeps everyone safe. You don’t know who’s still out there in the dark, waiting to snatch you or kill you because you have a watch they want.”
Dan’s whole face changes from his usual smile to something stern. A chill went through everyone in the van. He continues, “That’s what you all have to remember. No matter what your parents may have told you, this is a country that only a year ago ended a civil war. Be patient with your classmates, and don’t expect them to tell you their whole life’s story. That war scarred the nation badly.”
We were all silent for a few moments. It hadn’t really occurred to me, or to anyone else really, that it was as bad as all that. This might be harder than I thought it was.
“Well,” Chuck said with a cough, “who wants to listen to The Partridge Family?”
****
Though Christelle didn’t realize it, she needed to be in bed. I pick my daughter up and whisper, “Allons - y, mon poisson.” She starts babbling in a mixture of French and English that only she can understand and is more than a little fussy as I get her ready for bed and put her in her crib. It won’t be long now before we need to get her a big bed, but I don’t know where we’ll find one.
As I get Christelle to sleep, I notice the roof’s leaking. It’s not near anything important, like the crib, so I just get the bucket from in the bathroom and put it under the hole. I’ll get Teddy to fix it in the morning. He doesn’t have anything to do, as school hasn’t started back yet. Christelle, fortunately, sleeps like a rock, so the plinking won’t bother her.
When I come back downstairs, Teddy and Ben are thumb - wrestling…again, and Jacques’s watching them from his wheelchair. I sit on the floor beside him and whisper, “Trop rigolo, n’est - ce pas?”
“You need to work on your English, Tiffany,” Jacques whispers back. “That’s what they’ll test you on when you take the teaching exam.” He tries to be flippant and tender, but I can tell he’s worried.
He has every cause to be worried. Life’s thrown just about every stumbling block in our way on the way to become husband and wife, a family with 3 children. The physical cost alone was staggering.
Yet, we’ve always survived. The fact that we’re all still here, alive and mostly whole, is a miracle in and of itself. “Jimmy,” I say, “I will be fine. We will all be fine. And that exam isn’t for another three years yet. Focus on tonight.” I get up, sit on the chair nearest Jacques, and then kiss his cheek gently.
“Je t’aime aussi, ma chérie,” he says with a smile.
***
Translations
Allons - y, mon poisson: Let's go, my fish. (fish = pumpkin or sweetie pie in English)Trop rigolo, n’est - ce pas?: Too funny, isn't it?
Je t’aime aussi, ma chérie: I love you too, my dear.