Come Find Me

It was 1944, a month or so after the Allied forces had landed on the beaches at Normandy and had begun to make their way through France, liberating the people there from the German occupation. The allied forces had made it within a few dozen miles away from Paris, and a few of the units of the British forces had settled in a little town near the Seine to rest and wait for word on the plan for liberating Paris in the coming weeks. The people of the town were incredibly grateful for the soldiers for getting rid of the Germans, and had welcomed them into their homes, letting them stay in spare bedrooms and doing their best to help feed as many of them as they could with the little food they had. Mousier Laurent had kindly allowed many of the men to stay in the old barn on his farm, it having been empty besides a horse and a few chickens and goats. The family did their best to provide for them, with Mousier Laruent's wife providing warm meals for them, and his daughter, Margot, helping keep the place tidy and washing their clothes for them when she had a chance. She spoke English pretty well, although neither of her parents did so she didn't get to practice much, but she didn't really talk to the soldiers much, as she was quite shy, and her mother had warned to not linger around them too long, afraid of her only daughter getting hurt.

It was a sunny morning in late July, a few days after the British and Americans had arrived in the small town, and Margot was hurrying around the farm tending to the laundry which she'd hung to dry overnight, carefully unpinning it from the line and folding it into the laundry basket before moving onto the next one, humming a lullaby her mother used to sing to her and her dress billowing in the light breeze.

Gil was barely an adult.

In fact, the dark haired man, if you chose to call him that, just celebrated his 22nd birthday. He worked all day down in the mind shaft of the small, unknown town in Alabama, He was as boring as boring could be.

So when FDR spoke about the bombings, maybe that’s what made it so easy for him to sign his name to the military. He always wanted to be a part of something bigger than himself and he’d have the whole country back there cheering him on. Leaving behind his parents, siblings, and fiancé was hard, but as soon as he came home — he’d be married, have a house of his own, and starting the family he always dreamed about.

However, he wasn’t back home in Alabama. He was awaiting the Nazi troops to make their way into France. Paired up with English soldiers, everyone knew that if the take over happened, Hitler and his men might win. And that was a future no one wanted.

He had been in the trenches all day. It wasn’t as bad as the first war, like his father described, but the trenches were still damp and cold. He regretted not going for the air force every time he stepped into one. But he knew his eyesight would get him laughed at. It wasn’t until a man offered them his barn that he felt his guard let down a bit. Making a home in an abandoned stable, Gil fluffed up his hay and began writing like always. Earning him a tease from the other men. Before he could tell them to shove off, he noticed a beautiful young woman. She was going around and asking everyone their needs and he instantly felt everything he’d been lacking at home.

He dusted the hay off his pants and tried his best to remember his French class back in high school. “Bon...jour?” He hesitated, hoping he wasn’t making a fool out of himself. “J’Appel Gil, et tu?” He offered a friendly smile as his southern accent butchered her language.

@ twentyone.kittens
(I'm so sorry I never saw your reply!)

Margot had been told by her mother to go around delivering the men their clean laundry, although she hadn't particularly wanted to go into the barn with all the soldiers, who often whistled and catcalled at her, even though she pretended to not speak English in order to try to get them to stop, although it only made it worse.

She looked up from passing one of the soldiers his laundry when she heard someone speaking to her in quite terrible French, frowning a little as she straightened, holding onto her laundry basket tightly. Her mother had warned her against speaking with the soldiers, incase they tried to take advantage of her, and although this man - Gil, he'd called himself - seemed nice enough, she wasn't sure if she should be speaking with him.

"Bonjour... Avez-vous besoin de quelque chose, monsieur?" She asked softly, looking over him warily.

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