Props to Techsan for the editing job. Techsan, I am in awe of your patience and skills. Once again, I have to say that although Lt. Col. Vandervoort and his shattered ankle are entirely real, Daniel is pure fiction.
For those of you who have stuck by this story, I thank you profusely for reading it and voting. For those of you just discovering this story, I'd ask you to read all the chapters and vote, vote, vote.
Thanks again one and all.
Chapter 10
Ste-Mere-Eglise, France, June 6, 1944
A life for a life: that had been the bargain Madame Renault had struck with God in the wee hours of the morning on D Day. She'd save the young soldier's life, not just because he'd saved hers, but because she truly believed that in doing so, the life of her own daughter -- a soldier with the French Resistance -- would be spared.
Even in the face of reality, the lifeless body of her dead husband which had been removed from the kitchen floor and placed reverently in the small sitting room, the farmwoman was convinced that her Claire would return home to her. She'd made a bargain with God. She'd kept her end of it.
Notwithstanding the fact that saving the wounded soldier's life was a means to an end, Madame Renault's maternal instinct would not let her rest until she'd witnessed the medic deftly tending to her charge. She wouldn't be satisfied with anything less that saving the Lieutenant's leg. He'd probably walk with a limp, but there was no reason why he wouldn't be able to walk on his own two limbs.
The farmwoman had patched many similar injuries with the skill of a field surgeon. Surely a trained medic could do the job just as well. She hovered over the medic, a Corporal barely out of his teens, barking out instructions to him in English sprinkled with French.
"Non, non...vous dois...you must take that off carefully...he's been bleeding," Madame Renault instructed pointing to the dark crimson bed sheets beneath the man she now knew as 1st Lieutenant Daniel Carven -- they'd finally made their introductions upon her return.
"Yes, ma'm...I think I can handle it from here," the besieged Corporal looked to his commanding officer, desperate for a respite from his
assistant's
overzealous attention to his newest patient.
Since the start of this day, the Corporal had seen quite a few fractures...and worse. Significant blood-loss notwithstanding, the Lieutenant was in pretty good shape. The first aid administered by the animated Frenchwoman had saved his life and probably saved his leg.
Lt. Colonel Vandervoort looked on at the spectacle with guarded amusement. Clearly this farmwoman had the training of a seasoned senior medic and was frustrated that she had to leave her patient in the hands of some young, albeit qualified, kid. Hiding an appreciative grin in light of the circumstances, Vandervoort cleared his throat before speaking sternly to the Corporal.
"Corporal Gaffs," the Lt. Colonel gently admonished, "this good woman risked her own life to save one of ours...and she's done a damn fine job of it from what I can see."
Again, the Lt. Colonel looked down grudgingly at his own make-shift splint and then to the seemingly professional job on 1st Lieutenant Carven's leg -- a work of art performed by the Madame of the house.
"If I were you, I'd take advantage of having an extremely able assistant and listen to what she has to say. After all, the town isn't completely secured yet and I imagine you're going to have more patients than you can handle within the next few hours."
The commander grimaced at this admission. He knew that taking the town was one thing but holding it long enough to keep the Germans from barreling through in aid of their comrades on the beaches and precluding the Allied Forces from securing a deep-water port in Cherbourg was quite another. Without this port, the Allies would be severely hampered in bringing in badly needed reinforcements. The town had to be held at all costs.
So far, however, the liberation of Ste-Mere-Eglise, the first French town to hold that distinction on this day, had been a surprising success in light of everything that had gone wrong already. Thanks in good part to the efforts of the French Resistance whose job it had been to destroy all lines of communication, the Germans' ability to adequately spread the alarm as the invasion was underway had been severely handicapped.
However, another related matter hung unsettlingly in the commander's mind. Vandervoort frowned when he'd heard a stoic Lieutenant Carven introduce himself to his
Florence Nightingale
only a few moments before. He'd overheard the robust woman give her family name as she enthusiastically pumped Carven's hand, relieved to finally formally introduce herself to her guardian angel. The name, her name, sounded familiar.
Stepping up to the demanding woman who had now taken to forcibly removing the flustered Corporal's medical supplies from his hands in order to pantomime exactly what he needed to do in order to save Carven's leg, Vandervoort touched Madame Renault's arm to get her attention.
"Excuze-moi. Comment vous appelez-vous? Renault...Madame Louisa Renault?" the Lt. Colonel struggled with the language.
"Oui... Je m'appelle Louisa Renault. I am called Louisa Renault. Why do you ask?" the woman's eyes widened with what Vandervoort understandably perceived was apprehension.
The commander reached into his pocket to retrieve something before responding. His face was unreadable.
"There's something I need to tell you about your daughter...votre fille, Claire Renault," the imposing Lt. Colonel's eyes softened as he addressed the mother who'd already lost a great deal this day.
At the sound of her child's name, Madame Renault's heart leapt. But her side of the bargain with God had been kept...had it not?
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