Entry 05: Cross the Bridges of War (3)
Title: Cross the Bridges of War
Entry Number: 5
Author: latemarch
Fandom: Original
Rating: PG
Genre: Historical, romance
Spoilers: none
Word Count: 1243
Author's notes: While most of you greatly outpace me in the posting department (yay! congrats!) I'm still only on entry 05! Connects directly to entries three and four.
- - begin entry 05 - -
A similar cry for this man rose in the back of her throat before she could see his lips move faintly. The mumblings, though incoherent, sounded fervent and private - fever always had a way of bring out a person’s most intimate and unspoken thoughts, it seemed - and Evie drew back in some sense of privacy.
Lifting his dead weight into the nearest chair was a feat of epic proportion for Evie, Once he had been settled, she was nearly as not and feverish as he as becoming. Safe and out of the blue ire of her winter, a sick and drawn pallor was beginning to cover him with the sweat of sickness. It would be of utmost importance, she knew, to sweat the fever out as quickly as possible.
A warm bath, not too hot so as not to shock his system, and bed rest would be the first steps. Looking around the chateau, Evie tugged her mother’s quilt off of the rocking chair and draped it over the soldier. Maman had made it for Jean years ago, and it kept him as warm as a soldier as it had as a child; she could only hope that it would do the same for this man.
Yet that would never be enough. The old wooden and copper tub that she kept for bathing would have to work, as water swollen to ice had broken the pipes connected to her chipped claw foot tub the day before. With the storm brewing, she had not been able to persuade anyone to come out and help her with it, and so Evie spent precious time dragging it into the front room. Though they were out of the storm, time was still of the utmost essence, and she felt guilty for taking so long.
Scraping her hands and legs raw on the rough wooden shell, Evie could only shove aside her own concerns as she placed it before the fire and tended the flames with too much haste to be careful. Hair fell into her eyes, and she was beginning to sweat with nerves and worry, but she dared not stop and tend to herself - the ill moans of the man would permit no such dawdling. He had fallen so quickly into the throes of fever that it was frightening.
She checked her kitchen faucet for water and sweat beaded on her brow when none came - the faucet had iced was iced over and cold even to her still shaking hands - it would be of no help. The storm would have frozen the pipes that supplied her with water and that forgotten consequence was a hard blow. What reserve she did have stored in the house would have to be saved for cooking and drinking. But his need was just as dire - dirt and grime could cause a life-threatening infection for him, if they had not already.
Just as Evie glanced at her soldier, he pitched upright in the chair, a fit of fever and sweat and delusion. He was shouting without words, screaming so hoarsely that veins stood out in his neck and his hands turned skeletal when he clenched them into fists and the skin drew taught.
With more strength than she could have guessed, the soldier stumbled to his feet and began waving around, as if a drunkard. It was the force of illness and madness, his lack of control, of clarity, terrifying. His eyes were bloodshot as he lurched at her, and Evie held her ground against the waving, trying to understand the shouting.
“You’ll hurt yourself!” She insisted, beginning to feel the first veins of fear as the man, ultimately a stranger, came towards her and stumbled over a rug. As a soldier he posed the threat of man to her, the threat of war; he was the threat of deadly illness, and no matter how hard she tried to forget, she could not ignore Michel’s death at the hands of just such a disease - and never was it stronger in her mind than in that moment, the fear of sickness in the country.
He fell heavily to the floor, the breath audibly knocked out of him, lay there groaning as lightening flashed through the windows and over the both of them. A pregnant moment weighed the remnants of his ability as he struggled to lift himself, but ultimately there was no more reserve.
Evie hesitated, wondering if perhaps he should be sat back up, but the threat of him falling again was too much of a risk.
“I will gather snow for the bath.” Evie checked to see his cheek pressed snugly against the stone floor and found herself whispering in his ear. It was her only recourse - snow would melt fairly quickly so close to the fire, and the water would be just the same as if supplied by the plumbing. The only response was a flickering of some fingers, and she stood up and braced herself against the weather for a third time.
She’d become warm and flushed with sweat, wearing her winter jacket inside - a great brown thing that dwarfed her shoulders and fell to her knees - but that sweat froze like little rivers overtaken by winter down her back. Each bucket of snow was a painful, weighty pull on her shoulders, as muscles were warmed by work and numbed by glacial frost in quick succession over and over again. The burn in the cordons of her arms and legs was near unbearable as the tub filled up.
And with her will to live resolved, no longer a question but a commandment, Evie cursed Jean. She cursed Michel, too. For being stupid enough to die and leave her alone. For not being more careful. For never hearing the bullet. The fresh wave of bitterness was not unfamiliar as the snow melted by the fires and she could only think over and over again, ‘This is all their fault.’
“It’s all their fault.” She told the soldier as she rolled him over on the rug. His tub of lukewarm water waiting by the fire, she placed her hands on the buttons of his uniform, made to rags by battle and dirt. Though he appeared a creature of the forest laid out on her floor, filthy and unpredictable, a man he still was, and Evie forced a sniff of matronly disdain as she undressed him, discarding the clothes as she went.
It was no longer a time in which she had to worry about Michel’s approval, after all. And regardless, this man’s skin and bones were hardly likely to cause a fainting fit, as some might advise. In clear light, the shreds of uniform that she peeled off of him almost appeared to weigh more than he did.
Evie placed her hands under his arms and prepared to haul him up, but froze when he struggled in her grip. Her fingers already dug too far into waxen and infirm skin, and she feared a fall would do irreparable damage to his condition. “Hold still.” She told him, keeping her voice low and friendly. “Let me help you.”
And like a wild, scared animal he quieted slowly, twisting and bucking against her legs until exhausted once more. Evie murmured softly, lullabies and nonsense, as she lifted, then lowered him into the tub torso first. He jerked as the water touched him, feeling outrageously hot to still cold skin, and hissed weakly.
- - end entry 05 - -
I feel like this was maybe a bit more of a filler installment than I would have liked, but I'm sensing some good stuff coming soon. This is a story that I have to force myself to write meticulously by hand, so I felt a little frustrated with this chapter and like it was quite sloppy in some places. Hopefully I patched it up well enough that it's hard to tell, at least. Mostly just tired out at this point from work and real-life responsibilities and stress, but that's not going to stop me now!
OKAY: story time kids: part of my stress has been two things: one, I opened my NaNo 2012 document and discovered that it was missing 2500 words that I knew I had written and I had to go searching through my old computer to dig out the older document, but it took awhile and I was super freaked that I had screwed up the first half of my novel. Two, I keep having this recurring dream that a comic book store in Pleasanton keeps sending me these Cease and Desist notices because someone once said something about their store on this community and they want it taken down, except I don't know what the post is and they won't stop harassing me until the police show up to arrest me for not taking it down and I'm walking out of work in handcuffs so confused like, "But wait officers, I don't know which post to delete!"
I'm sure you can all imagine how crazy that is.
Entry Number: 5
Author: latemarch
Fandom: Original
Rating: PG
Genre: Historical, romance
Spoilers: none
Word Count: 1243
Author's notes: While most of you greatly outpace me in the posting department (yay! congrats!) I'm still only on entry 05! Connects directly to entries three and four.
- - begin entry 05 - -
A similar cry for this man rose in the back of her throat before she could see his lips move faintly. The mumblings, though incoherent, sounded fervent and private - fever always had a way of bring out a person’s most intimate and unspoken thoughts, it seemed - and Evie drew back in some sense of privacy.
Lifting his dead weight into the nearest chair was a feat of epic proportion for Evie, Once he had been settled, she was nearly as not and feverish as he as becoming. Safe and out of the blue ire of her winter, a sick and drawn pallor was beginning to cover him with the sweat of sickness. It would be of utmost importance, she knew, to sweat the fever out as quickly as possible.
A warm bath, not too hot so as not to shock his system, and bed rest would be the first steps. Looking around the chateau, Evie tugged her mother’s quilt off of the rocking chair and draped it over the soldier. Maman had made it for Jean years ago, and it kept him as warm as a soldier as it had as a child; she could only hope that it would do the same for this man.
Yet that would never be enough. The old wooden and copper tub that she kept for bathing would have to work, as water swollen to ice had broken the pipes connected to her chipped claw foot tub the day before. With the storm brewing, she had not been able to persuade anyone to come out and help her with it, and so Evie spent precious time dragging it into the front room. Though they were out of the storm, time was still of the utmost essence, and she felt guilty for taking so long.
Scraping her hands and legs raw on the rough wooden shell, Evie could only shove aside her own concerns as she placed it before the fire and tended the flames with too much haste to be careful. Hair fell into her eyes, and she was beginning to sweat with nerves and worry, but she dared not stop and tend to herself - the ill moans of the man would permit no such dawdling. He had fallen so quickly into the throes of fever that it was frightening.
She checked her kitchen faucet for water and sweat beaded on her brow when none came - the faucet had iced was iced over and cold even to her still shaking hands - it would be of no help. The storm would have frozen the pipes that supplied her with water and that forgotten consequence was a hard blow. What reserve she did have stored in the house would have to be saved for cooking and drinking. But his need was just as dire - dirt and grime could cause a life-threatening infection for him, if they had not already.
Just as Evie glanced at her soldier, he pitched upright in the chair, a fit of fever and sweat and delusion. He was shouting without words, screaming so hoarsely that veins stood out in his neck and his hands turned skeletal when he clenched them into fists and the skin drew taught.
With more strength than she could have guessed, the soldier stumbled to his feet and began waving around, as if a drunkard. It was the force of illness and madness, his lack of control, of clarity, terrifying. His eyes were bloodshot as he lurched at her, and Evie held her ground against the waving, trying to understand the shouting.
“You’ll hurt yourself!” She insisted, beginning to feel the first veins of fear as the man, ultimately a stranger, came towards her and stumbled over a rug. As a soldier he posed the threat of man to her, the threat of war; he was the threat of deadly illness, and no matter how hard she tried to forget, she could not ignore Michel’s death at the hands of just such a disease - and never was it stronger in her mind than in that moment, the fear of sickness in the country.
He fell heavily to the floor, the breath audibly knocked out of him, lay there groaning as lightening flashed through the windows and over the both of them. A pregnant moment weighed the remnants of his ability as he struggled to lift himself, but ultimately there was no more reserve.
Evie hesitated, wondering if perhaps he should be sat back up, but the threat of him falling again was too much of a risk.
“I will gather snow for the bath.” Evie checked to see his cheek pressed snugly against the stone floor and found herself whispering in his ear. It was her only recourse - snow would melt fairly quickly so close to the fire, and the water would be just the same as if supplied by the plumbing. The only response was a flickering of some fingers, and she stood up and braced herself against the weather for a third time.
She’d become warm and flushed with sweat, wearing her winter jacket inside - a great brown thing that dwarfed her shoulders and fell to her knees - but that sweat froze like little rivers overtaken by winter down her back. Each bucket of snow was a painful, weighty pull on her shoulders, as muscles were warmed by work and numbed by glacial frost in quick succession over and over again. The burn in the cordons of her arms and legs was near unbearable as the tub filled up.
And with her will to live resolved, no longer a question but a commandment, Evie cursed Jean. She cursed Michel, too. For being stupid enough to die and leave her alone. For not being more careful. For never hearing the bullet. The fresh wave of bitterness was not unfamiliar as the snow melted by the fires and she could only think over and over again, ‘This is all their fault.’
“It’s all their fault.” She told the soldier as she rolled him over on the rug. His tub of lukewarm water waiting by the fire, she placed her hands on the buttons of his uniform, made to rags by battle and dirt. Though he appeared a creature of the forest laid out on her floor, filthy and unpredictable, a man he still was, and Evie forced a sniff of matronly disdain as she undressed him, discarding the clothes as she went.
It was no longer a time in which she had to worry about Michel’s approval, after all. And regardless, this man’s skin and bones were hardly likely to cause a fainting fit, as some might advise. In clear light, the shreds of uniform that she peeled off of him almost appeared to weigh more than he did.
Evie placed her hands under his arms and prepared to haul him up, but froze when he struggled in her grip. Her fingers already dug too far into waxen and infirm skin, and she feared a fall would do irreparable damage to his condition. “Hold still.” She told him, keeping her voice low and friendly. “Let me help you.”
And like a wild, scared animal he quieted slowly, twisting and bucking against her legs until exhausted once more. Evie murmured softly, lullabies and nonsense, as she lifted, then lowered him into the tub torso first. He jerked as the water touched him, feeling outrageously hot to still cold skin, and hissed weakly.
- - end entry 05 - -
I feel like this was maybe a bit more of a filler installment than I would have liked, but I'm sensing some good stuff coming soon. This is a story that I have to force myself to write meticulously by hand, so I felt a little frustrated with this chapter and like it was quite sloppy in some places. Hopefully I patched it up well enough that it's hard to tell, at least. Mostly just tired out at this point from work and real-life responsibilities and stress, but that's not going to stop me now!
OKAY: story time kids: part of my stress has been two things: one, I opened my NaNo 2012 document and discovered that it was missing 2500 words that I knew I had written and I had to go searching through my old computer to dig out the older document, but it took awhile and I was super freaked that I had screwed up the first half of my novel. Two, I keep having this recurring dream that a comic book store in Pleasanton keeps sending me these Cease and Desist notices because someone once said something about their store on this community and they want it taken down, except I don't know what the post is and they won't stop harassing me until the police show up to arrest me for not taking it down and I'm walking out of work in handcuffs so confused like, "But wait officers, I don't know which post to delete!"
I'm sure you can all imagine how crazy that is.