Unfortunately, the unit that saved us had neither the numbers nor the authorization to attack the enemy in the farmhouse. And so, it was unsafe for me to return for the key. But that’s all right. It will wait there in the hole until I come for it as soon as circumstances permit.
In the moments before death, I felt peace knowing you would live on, that evil would lose no matter how many bodies it trod its boots. Now I am elated that I can see you again. And I swear to you I will!
Consider this letter as a prelude to my return. To many more days in my company. To many more nights in my arms with my tongue deep in your sweet mouth and my cock buried to the hilt in your eager pussy. The war is not over yet, but we are winning now, and I shall be by your side very soon.
Forever yours,
Simon
Once Theoand I have both finished, we sit back and process the contents of what we just read.
“Simon wrote that letter in September of 1944 after the liberation of Chambéry,” Theo says. “It was also a very emotional moment for him, so he’s much more generous with the details.”
“He’s still quite vague though.”
“Well, he wasn’t going to list every blown-up bridge or convoy,” Theo says, chuckling. “But he named the village where he was arrested, Sandeville.”
He looks up the place on his phone. “It’s in Normandy, close to Le Havre.”
“Do you think there’s a chance the key is still there in that farmhouse?”
“I doubt it, but…” He points at my phone. “Why don’t we try another letter. Is there more?”
“Yes, there’s one more.” I pull it up.
Simon,
I spent all night on my knees, praying. Now, listen to me carefully. I don’t want that key. I want my husband back in one piece. I want him with his head, arms, legs, and cock still attached.
Think, for Christ’s sake! You’ve been unscathed so far. When so many have fallen around you, your guardian angel kept you under his wing. And then, shortly after a cursed man gave you his family heirloom on the day he died, your luck turned. I was a hairbreadth from losing you!
So, let that damn key stay where you buried it. I promise you that after you come home, the only way you’re returning to Normandy to fetch it is over my dead body.
Love,
Elise
Theo turns to me. “I rescind my earlier assessment. It’s possible that the key is still in that cellar.”
“Unless the family that live there found it.”
“That’s possible, too.” He points at my phone. “No more letters?”
“The correspondence ends with the one we just read.”
“I suppose Simon came home shortly after.”
“As far as I recall, he was home before the end of the war,” I say. “He was slightly wounded. Elise refused to let him return to the front after he healed.”
I realize at that point that a waiter is hovering not far from our table, without daring to interrupt. The restaurant is empty now, and the staff have begun preparing the tables for the lunch service.
“Come on,” I say to Theo, sticking the phone in my pocket. “Let’s go have a look at the festival and let these good people do their job.”
We pick up our coats and head out the hotel’s revolving door.
The last clouds are gone. The smell of cinnamon, gingerbread, and roasting chestnuts fill the crisp air. Cute, brightly colored merchant stalls line the sidewalks, tempting visitors with handcrafted jewelry, cork purses, and woolen scarves. Large food tents have sprung up in the middle of the main street, now closed to traffic. Small tables inside the tents display local pastries and everybody’s favorite crêpes, some savory foods, mulled wine, cider, hot chocolate, and coffee. The village is full of people and cheer. It’s like Christmas a month after Christmas.
We stroll down the street, stopping here and there, looking at and tasting baked goods, and sampling drinks.
