Lea had dozed off despite the jolting movement of the train. When she awoke, they were nearing the port town of Ostende where she’d board the boat to Dover, one step closer to her fiancé and her new life. She sat up straight, blinking through sleepy eyes, her brain still in a daze.
The Flemish town had survived attacks by the Germans, with much of the Flemish architecture still standing. She eyed the structures with curiosity—tall thin buildings with false façades, a hook jutting out near the top, undoubtedly used for hoisting furniture from the streets below. So Dutch in flavour. But it wasn’t the architecture that fascinated her so much as the damage done to the port by the German bombing. Wreckages of ships still lay in the grey harbour of what had once been a beautiful resort town. How different from the postcards of the stunning beach and hotels her aunt had sent years before. Lea had dreamed of spending a holiday bathing in Ostend’s warm waters as waves lapped along the shore; yet here the town lay, grey and abysmal, a reminder of what the Germans had done. She looked away, only too glad to be leaving.
When the train pulled into the station, the man who sat across from her stood up and lowered Lea’s suitcase for her, his smile a bit too friendly.
“Merci,” she replied, then grabbed the handle and hoisted it up before he could offer her more assistance.
“I can carry it for you if it’s too heavy,” he said, trailing behind her.
Lea glanced back over her shoulder. “It’s okay, monsieur. I thank you for your kindness, but it’s not that heavy.”
She descended the stairs of the train and gazed about at the destruction—the crumpled buildings, the broken roads—until she spied what appeared to be a semblance of normalcy, a dock still intact, a ferry that seemed operational. She walked toward it, uncertain. When she got closer, confusion gripped her, and she swung about. Was this the right place? She’d never been too far from home before except to help fallen soldiers on the field after a battle. She shook away the memories of injured men with opened wounds and bloodied heads. Someone tapped her on the shoulder. It was the man from the train.
“Madame, let me help you, please. You look lost, and I speak the language here.”
Lea gave another look about, then gave in. “All right.”
“Where is it you want to go?”
“I need to catch the ferry to Dover.”
“It’s over there.” He pointed to another dock.
They walked in silence for a spell.
“What are you going to do in Dover?” he finally asked.
“I’m going to Canada…to get married,” she said, her words intended to keep the man in his place.
“Ah, another furlough bride then?”
“Well, not exactly. Perhaps more of a post-war bride.”
“And a beautiful bride you’ll make.” He gave her arm a flirtatious squeeze.
Lea feigned ignorance of the gesture.
Together they walked to the station where he ordered her ticket in Flemish. She handed the money to the agent behind the counter, then turned, and thanked the man.
He accompanied her to the gangplank, then tipped his hat, wishing her luck in her new life before stepping away.
“Thank you,” Lea called out, half-relieved, yet slightly disappointed he was leaving. It’d been fun to have a gentleman pay attention to her once she realized he had no ill intentions.
For a moment she questioned her decision to leave Belgium. After all, there were still other men left that one could marry. Hadn’t this gentleman just proven that? And how well did she know her little Napoleon? She shook her head. No, she’d made her promise, and the money had been sent for her. She had to go through with it. If only Mathilde had been there. Perhaps this man would have been a match for her.
By the time she boarded the ferry to Dover, Lea’s stomach rumbled. She’d run out of the bread and cheese Maman had packed for her. Carrying her suitcase, she made her way to the small cafeteria on the ferry and ordered tomato soup—small fare for the hunger that consumed her, but with the few bills she possessed, her money had to last all the way across the Atlantic Ocean and to the city named Regina where she’d meet her husband-to-be.
“Regina,” she whispered, recalling it had been named after Queen Victoria. A new city, a new province. Far from all the madness.
She sipped on the salty soup, and chewed the hard, crusty bread that accompanied it. Thinking of the man who’d helped her, her mind drifted back to the days that followed the soldiers’ stay.
“I’ve never been so itchy in my whole life!” Mathilde had cried, scratching her armpits.
“Did you eat mussels again?” asked Palma.
“No, this is different,” said Mathilde. “These are more like bug bites. And besides, Lea has it too.”
“You do?” asked Palma.
“Yes, and it’s driving me crazy!” Lea clawed at herself.
“Let’s see,” said Palma. She undid the
buttons of Lea’s dress and searched.
“What do you see?” asked Lea.
Palma let out a scream. “Ugh! You’ve got body lice.”
“Body lice?” exclaimed Lea.
The three girls shrieked.
“What do we do?” asked Lea, jumping about as she ripped off her clothes. “It’s so repulsive!”
Lea heard Maman’s feet hurrying up the stairs to where the girls danced about in a frenzy.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, her eyes wide.
“They have body lice!” said Palma. “It must have been those soldiers.”
“Body lice? But didn’t you wash the sheets after they left?”
Lea and Mathilde shared a guilty look. “No,” they both said at once.
“Then no wonder you have lice.” Maman shook her head and tsked. “Those poor men. The conditions they have to live under.”
“What’ll we do?” asked Lea. “I can’t stand this a moment longer.”
“It’s easy,” said Maman. “We’ll have to remove all the bedding and find the clothes you’ve worn since they stayed. Then we have to wash them all with boiling water, and iron them.”
“But that’s so much work,” protested Mathilde.
“Well, you do want to be rid of them, don’t you?”
The girls nodded.
“Then get started right away.”
They worked all day, washing the sheets, blankets, and all their garments by hand, then hanging them outside. It was near nightfall when they deemed the laundry dry enough to take in. They heated the iron on the wood stove and passed it over the clothes and sheets, small pops and crackles sounding as any surviving louse died an unmerciful death. By midnight they were done.
Lea and Mathilde flopped into their bed, exhausted. Mathilde’s breathing became regular as she fell asleep, but Lea remained awake, her mind drifting back to the small soldier with the kind brown eyes. She smiled. He’d had such a gentleness about him, a charming sense of humour; yet such pride. She hoped she’d see him again.
A few days later, they heard a timid knock.
It was Palma who answered, swinging the door open with an imperious swoop.
The two soldiers wore sheepish grins as though they’d been caught doing something wrong.
“So, you’re back,” Palma said, a decisive tone in her voice.
The soldiers shared an uncertain look.
Napoleon stepped forward. “We wanted to come and thank you for your hospitality last week. It was very appreciated.”
“Appreciated! Well, we didn’t appreciate—”
“Palma, where are your manners?” She yanked her sister’s arm. “Let these men in. They’re probably dying of thirst.”
“Yes, but—”
“No buts. We must do all we can.”
As the men entered, Lea’s heart flip-flopped. Napoleon was more handsome than she remembered. “May I prepare you a cup of tea and some pastries?”
Napoleon’s face shone with gratitude. “Yes, that would be nice.” His eyes roved up and down her form, seemingly pleased with what he saw.
Lea hurried to the kitchen and put the kettle on. It seemed to take forever for the water to boil. When she came back with the tea and galettes, Maman stood in the center of the room, her arms crossed, a frown on her face, obviously in the middle of a serious conversation.
“How dreadful! To have to live with lice like that,” she said.
“Yes, well what else can we do?” asked Jacques. “They’re everywhere.”
“Let us help you. If you can strip down, we can at least iron your uniforms to kill what’s there.”
Napoleon reddened.
“Here.” Palma reached into the closet and pulled out two thick blankets. “You can put these on while we kill the little monsters.”
The two men were ushered into the back room. When they came out a few minutes later, they were wrapped in the covers, their uniforms in their hands. Lea and Palma took each piece of clothing and thoroughly ironed it, the lice sizzling as they worked.
When the men were once again dressed and fed, Napoleon eyed Lea, then addressed Papa. “Sir, if I could have a word with you.”
Papa broke into a small, knowing smile and followed him to the door.
Lea and Mathilde listened as closely as they could, catching a word here and there.
“…your daughter…calling…”
“I think he’s asking for permission to court you,” said Mathilde, her voice a high whisper.
“I hope so.” Lea, moved closer to hear more. When she saw Papa reach out a hand and pat Napoleon on the shoulder, she knew they had reached an agreement.
Papa returned wearing a wide grin. “Seems you’ve picked yourself up a beau, Lea.”
Lea’s heart leapt. All the itching and scratching had been well worth it.