1 comments/ 2743 views/ 3 favorites War Torn Ch. 01 By: mjblythe I gripped the handle of my valise tightly as the train began to pull away from the platform. Glancing down the corridor, I could see men, women, and children reaching out the windows toward loved ones left behind. Turning my back to them, I stumbled toward the first empty compartment in sight, and quickly slid the door shut behind me. The commotion outside had brought back memories of the day when I, too, said goodbye to loved ones as my train rolled away. I pictured my mother's face as I had last seen it, lines etched on her brow, having already agonized over my sister's departure to America weeks before. Her grey eyes had been misty, but she shed no tears. My father had stood beside her. His bushy mustache and neatly combed hair shone silver in the early morning sun. They had each taken a turn embracing me, before the conductor helped me up onto the steps of the train carriage. My father had kissed me once more before handing me the rich brown leather bag which held my things. He stepped back as the conductor guided me to my seat. I had strained to see out the window, but to no avail. At the first cloud of steam, my mother turned her back and walked away into the crowd. My father had lingered for a moment, and then followed her. That had been three years ago. ... Absorbed in memory, I did not notice the train gaining speed, or the door slide open to allow a young soldier into the compartment. Only when his heavy canvas rucksack hit the floor did I look up. He had stooped to rummage in his sack, and I quickly took note of his appearance. He wore a grey-green wool coat, and dusty brown leather boots. His trousers were tucked into the boots at the knee, and I could tell from the stiff way he bent his left leg that he had been wounded. After two and a half years caring for soldiers with the Red Cross Society, I felt qualified to identify a battle wound when I saw one. Absently, I wondered if this young man was returning to the Front, or whether his travels brought him home on leave. My own brother was in the training camps now. God only knew whether I would see him again. Having finished his search, the soldier sat heavily beside me on the bench, a small piece of chocolate in hand. He stretched his legs in front of himself and let them fall open in a relaxed manner as he settled himself. The rich scent of his chocolate filled the compartment and my stomach grumbled. It had been ages since I'd eaten anything half so nice as Schokolade. The rough wool of his trousers brushed against my knee, and I glanced at him with annoyance. These young men had been too long with their own kind, forgetting the courtesies of civilian life, I thought. He moved his leg so that it no longer lingered against my knee, but I could feel him watching me and gauging my reaction. I had determined to ignore him and turned my head to see the fast-moving countryside out the window when he spoke. "I haven't come across many nurses traveling by themselves," he said, in a low, calm voice. "There aren't many nurses who willingly transfer from a nice city hospital to the Front," I replied. "I understand why. I'm coming from hospital myself. Shrapnel injury, you know." "You're on leave then?" "I was supposed to be out for a fortnight after hospital. They wanted me to return home to the family and reassure them that all was well. But the day I was to be released, a letter came from my mother. My father's sister died and left her farm to him, but he isn't well enough to travel there. So I was given compassionate leave to make sure all the affairs are in order. I think it'll be six weeks before I've got to report back." Suddenly intrigued, I turned toward him, slightly confounded by his openness. In my experience, it often took soldiers days or weeks to become trusting enough to share personal stories. This young man was unhindered by the fact that I was a stranger to him, and even so, was friendlier than any single person I had met in years. I looked him over with curiosity. His hair was sandy brown and wavy, cut close to his head. He had a square face with a strong jaw line, and heavy brows framed dark green eyes. His face was pale and drawn, but the fine lines etched around his mouth told of an historically warm and merry countenance. "I am glad to hear that you will have some time to recuperate. Will you be staying at your aunt's farm?" "Yes! And it is lovely. I haven't been since I was a boy, but I and my sister spent the summer holidays there most every year. I expect I won't be climbing as many trees now as I did in those days." He gestured to his wounded leg and laughed. "I always said I'd stay at that farm forever if I had someone to share it with. But I supposed we'll have to sell it. There's no one to take care of it." He began to tell me of the decline of his father's business, his mother's weak nerves, and his brother who had been killed just a day after arriving at the Front. It was the story of every German family since the start of the war. He spoke for nearly an hour, and as I listened I tried to imagine how my own family got on. Surely my parents were struggling to manage their shop in the wake of inflation. Certainly they were barely scraping together enough money to buy a bit of bread or cheese. I imagined them sitting in their threadbare parlor, waiting for news of the children who had all but abandoned them. My eyes grew misty thinking of my family, but I held back the loneliness and despair that welled inside me. I turned my head away, wiping my eyes under the pretense of pushing an unruly curl out of my face. Just then, the train began to slow. "Which station is this?" I wondered aloud. It was enough to break the conversation, and turn it to a safer topic. He stood and walked to the window, then pivoted to face me once again. I expected him to announce the name of the station in answer to my question, but instead he appeared to be closely observing me. At first, I ignored him by pretending to be interested in the commotion of passengers outside. After nearly ten minutes, I could feel his gaze upon me still. I glanced up at him and caught his eye. "You are very pale. Have you eaten?" He asked. "Not much. But it was sufficient." I replied. In truth, I had not eaten for at least a day. The loaf of bread given to me by the nuns on my departure from the hospital had been meant to last the two day journey, but I had given half of it to a beggar girl in the city. I could not account for the other half, but I assumed it had fallen from the pocket of my coat on the long walk to the train. "Come, I'll buy you something in the dining parlor." I protested, embarrassed that I appeared so frail to a stranger. He did not press me, and I was grateful when he returned to his seat. I could feel color in my cheeks, and I was determined not to engage with him again. The train began to groan and rumble away from the platform. I closed my eyes and wondered if he would disembark at the next station, or whether he would be my companion for the duration of my journey. We sat in silence for the next few hours. The sun had set, and the dusky light that filled the compartment put me at ease. Slowly, I let myself pass from consciousness. ... When I awoke, I was warm and comfortable. For a moment, I thought myself to be in my childhood nursery, snug in bed under the glow of the gas lamps. As I came to myself, the sights and smells of the train ushered in memory and realization. In that same instant, I sensed the closeness of the little room. His shoulder had become my pillow. I could feel the scratchy wool of his uniform against my cheek, and suddenly my right arm burned with the warmth of his body touching mine. I flinched and felt the color return to my cheeks. Pulling gently away from him, I glanced at my reflection in the dark window. Behind me he dozed softly, head resting against the back of the seat. He was by this time sporting the dark shadow of a beard, and I had to admit that he cut a handsome profile. I watched him resting peacefully, thinking of all the young men around the world that would not be at peace this night. I wondered what it would be like to sleep on the Front. Would it be the same for nurses as for soldiers? Surely not. I tried to imagine being awakened by enemy artillery, but I could not think of what artillery sounded like. My imagination overtook me, and I closed my eyes once again. War Torn Ch. 02 I was roused by movement on the seat next to me. He was awake and trying to re-position his wounded leg. Each time he stirred there was a sharp intake of breath. He was clearly in pain, but I was not his nurse, and tried to resist interfering. He tried to stand, putting weight on the leg, but blanched and swayed while emitting a low, primal groan. I sprang from my seat to catch him under the shoulder and help him to the bench once again. I encouraged him to lie down for a moment to regain his strength. Kneeling beside the bench to watch over him, I saw pain clearly etched in his face. His brow was damp and fevered, but having nothing with which to cool him, I placed my hand there instead. As he rested I gently stroked his forehead and hair, hoping to sooth him. Soon his labored breathing slowed. The color returned to his face, and at last he opened his eyes to focus on me. I removed my hand from his forehead, thinking that he might not wish to be nursed. Softly, he reached toward the hand I withdrew and clasped it. Even without exchanging words, I knew that he was grateful to me. ... I knelt beside him for nearly two hours while he gazed up at the ceiling. He seemed to be gathering his thoughts as well as his strength. After a while more, I whispered a question to him. "What can I do for you?" "I must eat something. Would you help me to the dining carriage?" He replied. He sat up and taking my hand, raised himself up on his good leg. He steadied himself against me, and I wrapped my arm around his waist to support him. Step by step we progressed through the corridors of two carriages, finally crossing into the dining parlor. It was unattended, so I helped him to the nearest chair. He motioned for me to sit across the table from him. As soon as I was seated, the door at the opposite end of the carriage opened and a waiter entered. "Whiskey, neat; tea, and cakes please." The waiter nodded and disappeared through the same door. "Are you feeling well enough?" I asked, timidly. "Funnily enough, I am feeling better than I have in months. I suppose it's all this sitting that has made it worse." "They should have given you something for the pain. Does it always hurt you when you sit for this long?" "Well, yes. But I'm rarely still long enough to bother with anything like that." We sat silently until the waiter reentered the room with a tray, and served us our beverages as well as a delicate plate of teacakes. "I do hope someone will look after you." "I think I already have someone looking after me." He smiled and reached across the table to take my hand. I felt my face flush, but not in anger or embarrassment, as it so often had. In the past few years I had become wary of men. Even the poor soldiers that I had attended in the hospital were often demeaning or lecherous towards me. This was entirely new and different. I rather liked it. "It's time we were formally introduced. I'm Erich Jäger." "Anna Mueller." "Lovely to meet you, Anna." Erich kissed my hand and I shivered. My name in his mouth sounded like the sweet sleigh bells I had loved to hear as a child at Christmas. For the first time in months, I smiled genuinely. His eyes lingered on me for a few moments before letting go of my hand and subsequently putting his whiskey glass to his mouth. I sipped my tea, watching him over the rim of the cup. He had drained the whiskey glass in a few swallows, and now he was slowly eating one of the teacakes. Every so often he winced at the pain in his leg. ... We sat in companionable silence for over an hour. When I had finished my cup of tea, he reached toward me again. My right hand rested on the table, and he gently covered it with his much larger palm. He set a few coins on the table before rising from his chair. Still holding my hand in his, he tucked it beneath his arm and made a great show of escorting me from the dining carriage. He was still limping noticeably, but his spirits were high. In an attempt to make me laugh, he whispered absurd things to me in an overly sophisticated accent. I found myself playing along with him as he pretended to be a nobleman touring the continent. Laughing quietly, we continued strolling arm in arm through the corridors until we arrived at our train carriage. Stopping at the door, he let go of my hand and ended the charade. Suddenly, I felt panic set upon me. I was a woman traveling alone at night with a soldier. I was vulnerable. What if his intention was not just friendly play? What if he were to close the door and ravish me? My heart began to race, and I felt an anxious tightness in my belly. I glanced apprehensively at him, but in return he smiled almost bashfully. "Anna, I must thank you." He turned to face me. "In the past few hours, you have made me happier than I thought possible. So much in this last year has reduced my heart to ruin, but the kindness and patience you have shown me tonight have begun to rebuild it. I know the war has taken the pleasantness out of ordinary things, but being in your presence for this short time was enough to bring beauty to my life." At once, my trepidation dissolved. His words broke over me like a storm surge and loosed the flood of emotion that had been dammed for too long. No one had spoken such kind words to me in years. Not since I left my parents. I burst into tears. I could not form thoughts or words to express myself, and so I buried my face in his shoulder to cry. If he was surprised at the outburst, he did not show it. Instead, he opened the door to the compartment, ushered me inside, and took me in his arms. He stroked my hair and ran his hand down my back. The soft caress of his hand was too much. I gave in to the loneliness that had imprisoned me for so long, and wrapped my arms around him. He let me cry until I became weak from the effort of sobbing, then he sat me on his good knee and held me until I fell into an exhausted sleep. War Torn Ch. 03 I awoke to his voice and the gentle touch of his palm on my cheek. It was early morning. I was lying across the cushioned seat, covered by a heavy woolen coat. Groggily, I pushed the coat off, sat up, and began to focus. The world outside the window was grey and frozen, projecting a harsh light into the little room. He stood before me holding something wrapped in a clean handkerchief. I made room for him on the bench, and he immediately sat down, handing me the little package. I unfolded the handkerchief to find my uneaten teacake from the previous evening. "You must eat something now," he said. This time I did not protest. I ate slowly, watching him. He stared out the window and was silent, but his presence overwhelmed me. I thought back to the sensation of his body against mine as he had held me the night before. My flesh prickled with goose pimples and I felt a fluttering in my chest. I wanted him to hold me again—to smooth my hair and speak in low tones. But he sat motionless beside me. I finished the little pastry and rose to find the washroom. Once there, I appraised my reflection. My hair had fallen from its chignon during the night and now framed my pallid face with strawberry curls. My eyes were still heavy with sleep, but even sleep could not extinguish the deep blue of their color. I straightened my frock, splashed a little water on my face, and attempted to pin my hair up once again. When I returned to the compartment, Erich was standing uneasily in front of the window. His face softened as he saw me, and I smiled in return. "I hope you slept well. You seem much refreshed." "Yes, thank you." "That makes one of us. I myself could not sleep." "Was it the pain in your leg?" "No, something quite different," he laughed nervously. "I must say something to you, and I hope you do not think me mad." "What is it?" He stepped forward to take my hands in his, looked into my eyes, and then haltingly he began to speak. "Anna, I did not sleep last night because I could not bear to let you out of my sight. I couldn't close my eyes for fear of waking and finding you gone. I have never been more content than when I held you in my arms last night, and when you fell asleep, it was all I could do to let you go." My breath caught in my throat as he continued. "I have never been a lonely person, but I feel that I shall never be complete unless I have you beside me." "Erich, I..." "Anna, I want you to come with me. Forget your transfer; forget the Red Cross Society and nursing and the war. Come with me to the farm." ... My heart was pounding, my head spinning. This was madness. Could I really walk away from the misery of the war? Could I leave behind the painful memories of my broken family? Was I really so foolish as to believe this stranger? Minutes passed as I tried to find a way to respond. Suddenly, a carefree daringness combined with delight and desire to drown out my most rational thoughts. I took a deep breath. "Yes." His eyes widened and he gasped with surprise, dropping my hands as he did so. I bit my lip, trying to keep from grinning. If I continued to trudge through the harshness of civil servitude, I was sure that my short life would be void of all things that could bring me pleasure. I wanted to chase the one glimmer of happiness that had come into my life, and capture it while I had the chance. Erich placed his hands on either side of my face and pulled me toward him, touching his lips to mine. He kissed me gently, but with an energy that sped through his lips and into my soul. I kissed him back, wrapping my arms around his neck and breathing him in. War Torn Ch. 04 Erich informed me that his aunt's farm was just a few more hours away. He was ecstatic, giddy with the thought of companionship, and frequently told me so. I was thrilled as well, but it had been so long since I had last felt joy, I could not fully break free from my melancholy state of mind. My heart alternately raced with excitement and terror at my decision. I could find little comfort except in the calming nature of Erich's smile. Each time his face split into a grin I admired the accompanying twinkle in his eye, and was warmed as if by the sun. We spent the remainder of the journey talking together in the compartment. I told him something of my life—my happy childhood, my decision to attend school only to be called back home when my grandmother fell ill, and my determination to become a nurse after I heard news that Germany had declared war. I told him of the eighteen months of strenuous medical training that I had undergone, and of my eventual placement with the Convent of Saint Nicholas. I told him of the verbal abuse I had endured from the nuns, and of the licentiousness of the patients. By the time I had finished divulging my story, he was speechless. He shook his head and promised that I would not have to return to such a life. As the day wore on, I was reassured by the constancy of his company. We sometimes sat quietly together, other times we exchanged stories, and every so often, he turned to kiss me. I had been kissed by others, but Erich's kisses were something beyond what I had experienced in my school days. His lips were soft, and the short whiskers on his cheeks and chin scratched against my face. He held me firmly, but his touch was tender. For the first time I felt as though I was with a man, not a boy. During one such kiss, I became aware of an awakening sensation in my body. At first, I felt feverish—my cheeks were flushed and my limbs quivered as if I were chilled. Then, something deep within me began to open up like the blooming of a flower. I could not explain the sensation, but it made me long for his touch. When we had exhausted the kiss, I could not bear to have him pull away from me. I wrapped my arms about his neck and buried my face into his shoulder and neck. He smelled like fresh baked bread and wool and rain all at the same time. I lifted my head from his shoulder and he looked into my eyes. Everything about him was comforting, and I knew that my life had been transformed when he entered this compartment just one day ago. ****** "We should reach the village soon," he said after a long period of silence. I nodded, my heart suddenly in my throat, as I contemplated the reality of the situation. "It is three miles from the station to the farm, and we shall have to walk." "Are you well enough to walk three miles?" I questioned. The previous evening I had seen how the pain in his leg could take hold of him, and I worried that the exercise of walking would be too strenuous. He did not meet my eyes, but responded with optimistic conviction. Erich began to pack his things. I had only my valise, which sat unopened at my feet. I donned my coat and gloves, and sat to watch the trees and fields slowing as they passed the window. In the distance I could see a small shingled building surrounded by signal lamps: the station. The sight of it made me giddy. The train began to scrape to a stop and my pulse quickened. I rose and picked up my bag, then walked to where he stood with his rucksack. My mind was quick becoming a blur of nervous questions, thoughts and memories. I hardly noticed the final stoppage of the train carriage, or that his hand had gripped mine and led me out of the compartment. When my feet hit the hard packed dirt that surrounded the little station, I jolted back into reality. Here I was, a nurse who had abandoned her position during wartime to be with a man she had known for less than 36 hours. I glanced behind me at the cold, blackened metal of the train, then at Erich, who still tightly held my hand. He was smiling and his eyes twinkled with excitement. The knot of anxiety in my chest eased, and I squeezed his hand. It was all so sudden and so absurd, but it was my new life. War Torn Ch. 05 The walk to the farm was not as difficult as I had feared. The road was dusty and pitted with wagon tracks, but the fields and orchards that lay on either side of it were at the height of the growing season and breathtakingly beautiful. Erich strode confidently beside me, all the while describing his memories of the little house that would soon be our home. I could not help but notice that he stopped once or twice during the trek to drink out of a small flask. Whiskey, I assumed, to help with the pain in his leg. I first saw it as we began to ascend a steep rise. It was a small white building set on the hillside to overlook the pastures below. To the north of the house was a large barn, and in the rear of the barn were visible an orchard, springhouse, and sheep fields. As we drew nearer, I spied overgrown gardens surrounding the house. Discarded tin pails, remnants of farm tools, and broken pottery littered the short path from the road to the side of the house. A few dirty windows peered out from the heavily weathered daub that covered the outside of the building. We paused before opening the door. Erich was exuberant, and I laughed to see his delight at returning to a place he so clearly loved. The doorframe was swollen, and it took the full force of his weight to budge the door. When the hinges finally creaked reluctantly and the door swung open, a cloud of dust and plaster bits rained down upon us. I followed Erich through the doorway and into the dark little kitchen. The only illumination in the room was the pale sunlight that crept in from windows on the southern and eastern walls. The place smelled of drying herbs, smoked meat, and clean linens. I breathed it in as I examined my new surroundings. I was standing in a crowded room. A rustic tiled stove stood to the left of the entry door and beyond that, another door led to a small storeroom. At the center of the room was situated a worn wooden table flanked by two mismatched chairs. Tucked into the southeast corner of the room was a solid wooden bedstead. A tall linen press stood to the right of the bedstead, and a rugged ladder stood against the wall beside it so that one might climb to the loft. Crocks, baskets, and pots were tucked in every corner and on every shelf. Garlands of flowers, herbs, fruits, and vegetables were draped from the rafters. It was a cozy and entirely charming little house. Erich walked from one side of the room to the other, running his fingers over the furniture and occasionally brushing dust away. He opened cupboards and picked up books, trinkets, and mementos, exclaiming his memory of each item. After a number of minutes, he turned toward me and smiled broadly. "How do you like it?" He asked. "It's wonderful," I answered, I crossing the room and standing on my tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek. The sun was setting, and the little house began to grow cold. Knowing that his aunt had always kept a full woodpile beside the house, Erich carried in wood for the stove. Once a good fire had been lit, he took two pails from beside the stove and went to fetch water. Meanwhile, I lit the few candles that I could find and began to prepare a small meal from what I found in the larder. There was a good supply of early apples, as well as potatoes, onions, and a wheel of cheese. It was so long since I had seen food like this that my hands shook as I sliced the potatoes. Soon I could smell the few onions, potatoes, and apples that I had put in the pan beginning to fry, and my mouth watered. Erich returned just as the potatoes began to sizzle in the pan. He set down each water bucket beside the stove and turned to latch the door. The room was snug and warm, the walls bathed in the soft light of the candles. I filled a pot with water and set it on the stove to boil. He was seated at the table, watching me. I set a steaming plate in front of him, but he would not eat until I had also been served. So we sat together, eating quietly and savoring every morsel of the meal. At last, the plate was empty and I rose to wash the dishes. As I reached for the plate in front of him, he gently took hold of my hand to stop me. "Anna, it's been a long few days. You should rest now. I will do the cleaning." I did not argue. While he went about washing the dishes, I began to think about sleeping arrangements. The mattress on the bed was bare and lumpy, so I opened the linen press and examined its contents. There were a number of clean but threadbare coverlets, as well as a set of creamy white sheets. I smoothed and tucked the sheets around the dense straw mattress as best I could, then spread the coverlets over the top. It was not a pretty place to sleep, but at least it would be warm. I liked the eccentricities of the bed—it was nothing like the sterile white sheets and tight brass frames of the convent. When I had finished making up the bedclothes, I turned and sat on the bed to watch Erich. He had just returned the frying pan to the top of the stove, and he flashed a smile at me. War Torn Ch. 06 When Erich had finished the last of the cleaning, he draped his dishrag over a line strung across the stove. He picked up a candle from the tabletop, and extinguishing the others, crossed the room. Placing it on the windowsill above the bedstead, he sat beside me and began to remove his shoes. I had been exhausted when I first sat down, but now the proximity of his body set my heart pounding. I glanced down at his hands. He was in the midst of heaving off his right boot. I admired the girth of his calf muscle, and closed my eyes imagining how he would react if I caressed it. Just then, he gasped audibly, and I looked to see that he could not bend his other leg enough to grasp the boot. "I'll do it," I said, as I slid from the mattress to the floor in front of his feet. Gingerly, I took hold of the heel and toe of the boot and pulled it off. His sock slid off as well, exposing his skin. I saw for the first time that his foot was swollen. He winced at my touch. Rolling up the leg of his trousers, I found the rest of his leg to be angry red, inflamed, and hot to the touch. My hand began to tremble. This was reminiscent of my days in the hospital. I had seen too many young men perish in this war because infection, not weapons, posed a more imminent threat to their lives. I would not stand by to witness another death. He groaned, and I looked into his eyes, seeing in them a pain that had been unmasked. "This looks like an infection. How long has it been this way?" I asked. "Not long. Two days, maybe three," he replied. "It's nothing to worry about." "Lie back. Let me see the wound." "No! Anna, the scar is horrible. I can barely look at it myself." "I doubt that it is the worst shrapnel injury I have seen. Take off your trousers and let me see." I commanded. Erich did as he was told. I turned my back as he shed his trousers and covered himself with the coverlet. When he was ready, I studied the wound. Shrapnel had ripped through his left thigh, leaving a deeply pitted scar. The scar itself was deep, rough, burgundy, and all around it the skin was ruddy and irritated. He watched me anxiously as I gently touched the tips of my fingers to his quadriceps. He flinched as I ran my fingers down the thigh to his knee, shin, ankle, and finally the arch of his foot. His skin was hot, but his muscles were firm, and he had no abscess. "Thank God," I breathed. "It's just a fever." "I told you," he teased, "What a thing to panic over." "But there is an infection. That's what caused the fever. I am worried that it will become worse if we don't treat the wound." I rose from the bed and began to search the room for a clean piece of old linen. Next, I took the water that had been boiling on the stove for washing dishes and poured it into an earthen bowl. Draping a thick piece of flannel over the side of the bowl, I set it on the floor beside the bed. Ripping the old linen into long strips, I rolled them and set them next to the hot water. "Have you got any whiskey?" I asked, remembering the flask he had carried with him from the train station. "Yes, in my coat pocket." Once I had retrieved the flask, I added it to my collection of makeshift nursing equipment. I picked up the bowl of hot water and held it in my lap as I sat beside Erich on the bed. Very softly, I began to bathe his wound in the scalding water. He pursed his lips and breathed calmly as the cloth made contact with his thigh. When the water began to turn cold, I set the bowl down and picked up the flask. Dousing the flannel in alcohol, I then pressed it against his wound. He braced himself against the burning sting of the antiseptic—gritting his teeth and holding tightly to the bedstead. After a few more moments, I removed the cloth, picked up the strips of linen, and snugly wound them around his leg. "The bandage will need to be changed every few hours," I said, standing to clear away the additional bandages. I set the bowl of water, flask, and linens on the kitchen table, and then washed my hands. Behind me, he drew up his trousers, fastened them, and then propped himself against the headboard. Crossing the room once again, I blew out the candle and perched on the edge of the bed to remove my own shoes. As I did so, I felt his hand lingering at my back. When I finally turned toward him again, he reached out to me with both arms. I nestled into his embrace and laid my head on his shoulder. We fell asleep there, quietly listening to each other breathe in the darkness. War Torn Ch. 07 It had been a surprise to wake in that bed, hours before dawn, beneath unfamiliar bedclothes. At first, I could not remember where I was or how I had come to be there. When my memory caught up with my consciousness, I smiled as I felt the warmth of Erich's arms around me. Lightly, I put my palm to his forehead. His fever had broken. I kissed his brow, slipped from between the sheets and left him sleeping there. I crossed the room to light the stove, and began heating water for a bath. Apart from the usual dust and rumple of traveling, the smell of unwashed skin and coal soot permeated my hair and underclothes. When I was at the convent, my appearance hadn't much mattered. Now, however, I found myself preoccupied with the thought. I could not help but notice how thin I had become. The food shortages and stress of the past years had taken their toll on my young body. I certainly did not resemble the dewy and voluptuous French women that I had seen on soldiers' postcards at the hospital. It had been days since I had last bathed and weeks since I had last washed my hair. I waited impatiently for the water to warm, anticipating the glorious sensation of properly clean skin. Soon the fire had heated the room, and I glanced toward the bed where Erich lay, making sure he was still asleep. In the darkness, I began to peel away my layers of wrinkled clothing. First I removed the bodice of my frock, then the skirt. Next came the slip and petticoat, then the stockings and drawers. Finally, I removed my brassiere and unpinned my hair so that it fell around my shoulders. I took a thick piece of flannel, dampened it in the water atop the stove, and began to bathe myself. Unused to the exposure, my teeth began to chatter as I worked the suds from a sliver of soap into my hair and skin. I rubbed my skin with the flannel until it became rosy, then rinsed my hair, and began to dry myself. The soap I had used smelled lightly of lavender, and I breathed in the fragrance with relish. Momentarily, I stood naked in front of the stove, delighting in its warmth on my bare skin. I could not very well return to wearing my filthy stockings and undergarments, but I had only one change of clothes—a lovely white summer dress that my mother and father had bought me in Berlin before the war. I didn't feel that the occasion merited such a fine piece of clothing, but I opened my valise and removed it nonetheless. I slid it over my head and felt the cool cotton settle upon my figure like snow. The first silvery rays of morning sun crept through the windows just as I finished dressing. My hair hung in loose curls down my back, and I debated whether to bother with a chignon. As I pondered, I glanced again at the bed. This time, Erich was sitting upright, gazing back at me. I blushed, wondering if he had seen me in a state of deshabille. He rose from the bed, and I could see that during the night he had removed his uniform jacket and wore only a white shirt in addition to his trousers. Though I had seen many men in their most natural state, I had always felt distant and clinical toward them. Now, this vital young man stood before me—fully clothed—and I could hardly stop myself lusting for him. The color in my cheeks deepened. Erich approached quietly, and softly placed his right hand against my reddened cheek. With his other hand, he encircled my waist and pressed himself to me. I gasped at the sudden contact, but he smiled and lowered his lips to my own. His kiss was warm and passionate, and I felt myself melt into him. Slowly, he ran his right hand along my neck and shoulder. He twirled my strawberry curls around his fingers, and then continued tracing down my back. I shivered with pleasure when his hands met at my waist. Just then, he removed his lips from mine and let them wander down my neck to my shoulder. Each tender peck elicited a sigh from me and an increased desire between us. My hands, which had at first rested lightly on his shoulders, began to clutch at his back. He set his hands on my hips and vigorously moved me toward the far side of the room. He pushed himself against me, and pinning my back to the wall, he lifted me so that I could wrap my legs about his torso. I balanced there on his hips, my arms thrown around his neck and shoulders. He found my lips again and kissed me forcefully. His breathing had become heavy, and the sound of it ignited in me a physical longing I had never experienced. My hands found the supple skin of his neck and I began to unbutton the collar of his shirt. He made a noise in his throat like a low growl and tightened his grip around my waist. After a few moments, he loosed one hand from my waist and slowly moved it down to my hip and thigh. The dress I wore had ridden partway up my thigh, and I sighed when he placed his hand on my bare leg. He stopped kissing me then, and carefully let me slide down so that my feet touched the floor. With one hand still wrapped around my waist, he leaned down and whispered to me. "My God, you're beautiful. I want to touch every inch of you." My hands rested on his chest, and I was seized with a sudden desire to see the firm body that lay hidden beneath the shirt he wore. Gently, I took hold of the material and began to tug at it. When he realized what I was doing, he instantly released me and pulled the shirt over his head. He smiled and touched my cheek in encouragement. I let my fingers trace the firm muscles of his chest and stomach, stopping when I reached his navel. A dark trail of hair descended from the navel, and as I touched it, he let out a deep breath. It was then that I noticed the hard bulge in his trousers. I quickly looked away, but I knew he knew that I had seen it. Taking my chin in his hand, he guided my lips to his once more. As I relaxed into the kiss, he reached around my back and began to unclasp my dress. I felt my cheeks growing hot at the thought of what he would do next. But when the dress slid silently past my shoulders and breasts and onto the floor, I could only concentrate on the sensation of his skin against mine. The satin slip that I still wore was like a conductor of electricity. Wherever our bodies touched, I felt a charge. Erich's hands roamed my body—stroking my back, caressing my neck, fondling my breasts—until his hands met mine and began guiding them slowly to the waist of his uniform. As my fingers rested there, his lips became more urgent, and he moaned at my touch. Again, he pressed me to the wall, and I fumbled to unfasten his fly. When the last button had been freed, he wriggled out of the trousers and stood before me in his underdrawers. I could see the rigid line of his manhood beneath the thin material. Tenderly, I reached toward it, grasping it through the cloth that was by this time damp with perspiration and desire. I stroked it lightly through the material and felt it throb and swell in my hand. For a few moments, Erich stood there, sighing and gasping. His breathing was shallow, and he had braced himself against the wall on either side of me. Then, without warning, he jerked away from me and took a stride back. He looked me over for a moment before turning his back and walking to stand in front of the stove. Thinking I had done something to upset him, my heart dropped. He stood watching the fire in the stove for nearly ten minutes, and I remained motionless against the wall. Suddenly, he crouched down beside the water pail and splashed a bit on his face and neck. Rising to face me, I saw that his expression had changed. "Anna, forgive me. I had no intention of doing this." "What do you mean?" I asked, taking a step toward him. "When I asked you to come with me, you must believe that I was only looking for companionship. There's just something about being a soldier. One is so far from female comfort...I couldn't control myself...but the last thing I want is to take advantage of you." I took a step closer to him. "Erich, I want this. If I didn't, I would have never gotten off the train. There has been so little love in my life since this war began, you are all I have. You are all I want." When I had finished speaking, I stepped toward him once more and placed my hands against his rough cheeks. I stood on my tiptoes to kiss him, and as our lips met, he lifted me into his arms. A few quick strides across the room and soon he had laid me on the bed. He stood over me, hands caressing my legs and ever so gently pushing my slip over my naked thighs. After a moment, he backed away from the bed. I watched as he stepped out of his underdrawers, his liberated member bobbing and swaying between his burly legs. It was much larger than I had thought, and I bit my lip trying to imagine the work it would do. I did not have to imagine for long, however, as Erich mounted the bed and began to kiss me with intensity. He positioned himself between my legs, placing his hands on either side of my head. I could feel the heat of his cock on my thigh, and I longed for him to enter me. One of his hands glided beneath my slip, and I raised myself far enough off the sheets to bring the garment over my head. Straight away his lips began to journey to my breasts and belly. His touch was like velvet, and each kiss brought me exquisite pleasure. I wrapped my arms around his back, feeling the deeply etched muscles there. Eventually, his sweet, soft mouth found its way back to mine. I laid my hands on his smooth hips, and I could feel the heat of his lust. Little by little, I let my hands drift toward his inner thighs. When my fingers brushed against his manhood, it twitched away, but then relaxed into my open palm. I cupped my hand around its tip, feeling the silky wetness there. Erich gently bit my lip in response. I began to caress him very lightly with the thumb and index finger of my other hand. Each stroke made him shiver. Soon, his shaft was drenched in his own juices and I quickened my movements. He began to push forward with every stroke of my fingers, all the while moaning softly into my mouth. His moans became frantic and suddenly he tore his lips from mine and looked deeply into my eyes. "I need you. I need to be inside you or I'll go mad." I tried to reply, but my intense desire for him had tightened my throat. I could not tell him now that I had never been with a man. With one hand, Erich was guiding himself to my opening. I spread my legs wide and tightened my grip on his shoulders. Swiftly, he thrust into my depths and I cried out in pain. He withdrew partway, and I winced with discomfort. "Anna, have I hurt you?" He whispered, between ragged breaths. "I should have said—you're my first." I gasped. "Oh, my love, I didn't know. I thought...never mind. I'll make this as gentle as I can." I smiled up at him, and he kissed my forehead. Again he pushed himself into me, and then withdrew. As minutes passed, the pain faded and I began to enjoy the steady rhythm of his body. I wrapped my legs around him and rocked to the motion of his hips. Before long, I felt a strange tingling in the area of my belly and groin. The tingling spread through my body, and wherever it went, my muscles began to stiffen. It was like an ache that could not be relieved. Erich had also begun to tense his body. His thrusts had become faster and more powerful, and the bed shook each time we rocked forward. The tiny house was raucous with the sound of flesh against flesh and the bedstead against wall. The force of his penetrations drew little whimpers from me, and I dug my fingers into his back. Without warning, he lifted me from the sheets so that I sat straddling him. He felt even bigger inside me than before, and as he began a new rhythm, I threw my head back to enjoy the sensation. He kissed my neck and I ran my hands through his unruly hair. As we adjusted to this position, the physicality of our entwined bodies became too vivid. My desire was like corporal pain, and every part of me was on edge. Erich reached his hand between us to touch that most sacred and secret part of me. I moaned aloud as I pressed myself into adept fingers. Suddenly, I felt as though I were losing control of myself. My muscles tightened all at once and then my whole body began to shake as they released their tension one by one. I cried out again, this time in relief. Erich kissed me hard on the mouth and deepened his thrusts. Moments later, he emitted a loud groan and plunged into me one last time as his hot seed filled my womb. We collapsed together on the bed, legs and arms still tangled. He kissed me tenderly, and I stroked his hair. After some time, he put his arms around me and closed his eyes. I curled into his chest and we drifted off to sleep together.