Eclipsed Dreams: A Morning’s Goodbye

By Nina Goncalves Vieira

With the warm summer breeze, the small cottage had all of its windows opened, allowing for nature’s warmth to invade its interior. Sunlight gleamed through the glass and warmed every piece of the house. Inside a small family lived. 

From a distance, nestled deep within the empty fields, one could see its gambrel roof, as it was one of the last structures intact. Several years ago, the house had been built by a father’s bare hands with the wood that once stood on those very grounds, and it became a home for several generations.

Outside the comforting and protecting walls, in the midst of the oasis, time seemed to cease. Filling one’s lungs with the fresh fragrance of blossoms, the dampness of the soil, and the subtle sweetness radiating from the berries and fruits in the trees, all in one breath.

 The cottage’s rigid floors squeaked as footsteps tingled its walnut-colored surface. Matching the floor, every piece of furniture was built of the same material, as it was the only type of wood that could be found nearby. 

Each part of the house’s interior was bare, as no walls stood between the rooms. The smell of fresh bread trickled into every corner as Charlotte baked again.

“Lucas, sweetie, breakfast is ready!” Charlotte called out, sticking her head slightly out of the window.

Her call was unnecessary, as he stood only a few steps away from his mother. He lingered outside of the house, mesmerized by the beauty of the flowers that were starting to engulf the cottage. Every day in his twelve years of life, he would examine their beauty. He loved how their leaves and petals were free and thus moved in the direction the wind decided it would take them. 

Looking out, Charlotte saw her son studying the flowers as always. A smile slowly formed on her face, and for a moment, she stopped cooking to appreciate that her son loved the flowers as much as she did. After years of tending to them, Charlotte was able to add a slight touch of color to the never-ending brown shade that presented itself in her house everywhere, all at once. 

“Lucas,” the mom said, this time in a quieter tone. Her son’s head turned towards her direction, “Go tell your father to come home, before he forgets about returning once again.” He started looking at the flowers again, without even responding to Charlotte or following her wishes. 

“Lucas!” she snapped at her son. He didn’t even bat an eye; she had to stop herself from saying something she would regret. Her pause allowed him to finally answer her with his words.  

“Yes, mother, can you just wait a second?” his deepening voice declared, rolling his eyes as he turned around and headed towards the woods. 

“My god,” Lucas murmured to himself. 

The faint sound of birds made its appearance, allowing for a sweetly high chorus to encompass the atmosphere. With them, Charlotte sang, allowing for whatever sound the birds made to guide her melody. The music calmed her down, and after dealing with her teenage son, she always needed a minute of peace. As she stood in front of the sink and washed the dishes, her tranquility was interrupted by a loud knock. For a second Charlotte stood still, trying to understand where the sound came from. Then another knock came from the door. Quickly wiping her hands on her white apron, she walked towards the mahogany door and stood in front of it for a second. 

“Hello? Is anyone home?” a man’s voice asked from the other side of the door. 

Charlotte took a deep breath, reached to open the door, then stopped herself in her tracks, forced a smile to her face, and finally opened the door. 

“Hello…” she said and scanned the man’s uniform. “Officer… how can I help you?” 

“Bonjour. I am Sergeant Jaques and I am here to talk to your husband,” he said, striding inside without an invitation. 

Looking around the small and simple cottage, the sergeant walked around with his hands behind his back. Strolling towards the kitchen, he sat down at the end of the table.

Closing the door, Charlotte turned around to understand what he was doing. “Talk to him regarding what?” she asked. 

He simply stared at her, hoping she would put two and two together, as it was no mystery that a war was evolving. She simply stared at him back, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

After taking a deep breath, he began explaining, “Well, I’m sure you have heard of the war that is-” The opening door interrupted his sentence, as Francis and Lucas walked inside, laughing loudly.

Their laughter quickly ceased, as the father and son shared a confused glance, and began staring at the man.

“And who is this?” Lucas asked his mom, pointing at the fat man dressed in a uniform who was sitting down in Lucas’s chair. His voice was tense. 

“I’m Sargeant Jaques,” answered the man. He did not bother standing up to greet them.

As the father stepped closer to the fat man, he asked, tilting his head slightly to the side “Jaques, what are you doing here?”

“Francis, I think it’s better if we discuss the matter privately,” Jaques stated, finally standing up and heading towards the wooden front door. 

Francis nodded his head and motioned for Jaques to walk in front of him. Charlotte and Francis exchanged words with their eyes; hers were blown wide and confused, while his were calm and dark. Without looking back, he walked out and closed the door behind him. Charlotte sat down at her chair, burying her face in her hands, hoping she was making the wrong assumptions about the sergeant’s visit.   

Suddenly, the door cracked open, and Francis was walking inside their house, alone. Jumping out of her seat, Charlotte walked up to her husband and hugged him tightly. 

“We will be okay. We’ll figure it out,” she whispered to her husband, in an attempt to comfort him. Both knew her words to be false, but they allowed themselves to be reassured by her lies. 

Lucas cleared his throat, causing his parents to separate from their embrace and stand next to each other as they looked at their son. 

“What is going on?” he asked, crossing his arms in front of his chest. 

“Your father is being drafted for the war,” Charlotte answered, her voice cracking. 

“Is that true?” Lucas asked, widening his eyes as he looked at his father. 

“Yes,” Francis said as he slightly nodded his head. “Jaques came here to tell me before matters worsened. The soldiers have been going to every home in the towns and taking the men with them. They are going to come to take me away tomorrow,” Francis explained breathlessly.

Suddenly, Charlotte made a small gasping sound before letting out, “I’ll go with you. I’ll volunteer as a nurse.”

“No, you will not,” Francis asserted as he raised his voice slightly. 

“Yes, I will. You cannot fight by yourself, I need to be by your side. What if something happens to you? I need to be there.” 

“You need to be here, taking care of our son.”

“You don’t have to stay here, mother. I will go with you,” interrupted Lucas.

“Son,” Francis said, raising his voice, “Your mother and I need to talk alone for a while.” 

“But-” Lucas tried to argue.

“Don’t make me repeat myself.”

Without another word, Francis walked towards the door and opened it to Lucas. As he walked out, Lucas stopped in his tracks and said, “You can’t make these kinds of decisions just between you two. I decide what I do with my life, and I have a say in this matter just as much as you do.” 

 He was once again being treated like a child by his parents. Lucas was considered to have the age of a man, but it seemed he would have to wait years until his parents would see him as one. 

Outside, he was inundated by the dark; the moon was his only source of light. Lucas heard screams and objects being thrown around, so he decided it was best to wait until the fight died down to go back inside. Lucas couldn’t help but shed a salty tear at the thought of never seeing his father again. He was surprised to see his father slamming the door on his way out, with a bag on his shoulders. Francis didn’t even notice his son staring at him in the dark, and as he walked away, Lucas decided it was better to leave his presence as a mystery.

After his father walked out, Lucas went inside the cottage, only to find his mother tightly holding herself on the ground, shaking from how much she had wept.Walking towards her and lowering himself to the ground, he hugged his mom like he wanted to be hugged. Lucas stayed up all night, waiting for his father to crack the door open in the middle of the night and apologize to his mom. But he never came back.

With time, Charlotte’s eyebags only got deeper and darker. Suddenly, on a chilly September night, she woke up from one of her usual nightmares desperately gasping for air. She gathered a bag, changed from her nightgown to one of her white dresses, and without looking back, she quietly walked to the front door. As Charlotte held the doorknob, she stopped her movements and slowly turned back. Looking at her child, a sudden guilt filled her. She tiptoed to her son’s bed and placed a kiss on his forehead. Abruptly, she grabbed a piece of paper and a pen and began writing. When Charlotte was done, she set the letter on the kitchen table, and left. 

Weeks after volunteering as a nurse, Charlotte would walk along the hallways of the hospital, going inside every room to see if her husband could be in one of them. Night after night, she would search for him, and even after failing to succeed, she never gave up.

She would also search for him whenever the troops marched along. Rising to her tip-toes in attempts to identify her husband in the crowd, Charlotte’s eyes scanned the faces of more than a hundred men. Her white cap almost fell off of her head, as the harsh wind worked against her. Behind the soldiers were the admirals, who observed their men and conversed as they walked. Almost as if attempting to mask their features, the admirals did not look into any of the women’s eyes. Charlotte knew that if she had even a slight glimpse of her husband she would be able to identify him.  

As the unified sound of countless feet stomping on the ground began to fade, Charlotte accepted defeat. Sighing as she placed her feet flat on the ground, she thought all her efforts had been useless. 

“Come on, we have to go back to the hospital,” said one of the nurses as she lightly pulled onto Charlotte’s arm. 

“The Germans are near. We need to be ready for tonight,” the head nurse announced as they headed towards the building. 

Later that day, as the sun omitted its orange rays that touched the ground and the sky, the men on the frontier ceased their actions and appreciated the world’s beauty for a moment that could be their last. 

Francis allowed his men to absorb the scene. His smile lines deepened as he thought of his wife and son. Knowing they would need him when the war was over, he lingered for them. If there were no loved ones to come back to, Francis would not live another day after seeing such horrors. His comrades’ blood, and the dirt from the muddy battles, all remained on his clothes. All a reminder of his misery, but also of his necessity to fight for his country.  All of this death, all of their suffering should not be in vain.

“Sir, do you think we will win?” a younger soldier asked, taking the men away from the sun’s trance. 

“We have already won,” Francis responded. The men stayed in silence, thinking of the lie their admiral had just stated. 

“Living is a victory that needs to be celebrated at every moment,” he said as he looked into the eyes of the young boy. “Do not fool yourself into thinking we will all win in the end,” Francis stated, his voice decisive and sincere. 

As the sun’s last rays kissed the earth and the moon appeared, the shots commenced. Hours passed, hundreds of men had been killed, and there were still bombs exploding, screams and grunts to be heard all around the men. One of those grunts came from Francis, as a grenade exploded next to him and ripped through his right arm. 

“General Francis is hit,” shouted one of the French men as he dropped his gun and attended to Francis’ wound. “You need to go to the hospital,” the soldier said. 

“I can’t go, Maurice, I have to fight,” Francis contradicted as he flinched with pain.

“Yeah, fight for your life. Your damn arm was almost entirely blown off, no one will blame you for going to the hospital!” Maurice exclaimed as he helped Francis out of the frontier.

After successfully leaving the battle and going into a vehicle with other injured soldiers, Francis entered the hospital. The nurses were terribly busy, as there were too many injured men and not enough ways to help them. As Francis looked for a place to lie down, he caught a small glimpse of what seemed to be a very familiar face. Laying on the ground among the many grunting bodies, was a boy with brown hair just like Francis’s. Lowering himself to the ground, he began crying as he embraced the boy.  

Eyes scanned his hands and all he could see was red; bringing his palms up to his face, he buried his emotions in his hands. The blood splattered across all of his features; his being became a puddle of sacrifice. Not being able to believe that the reality was true, he forced his eyes to observe the scene, to see the life he had taken. His hands began shaking as he dropped his hands and grabbed the body from the ground. Hugging him as close as he could, he thought of how much of life his son still had to live. 

 “What have you done?” he whispered to his son’s cold corpse, as his tears began to fall. 

Soft footsteps rushed over to the wounded men, helping as many as she could at once. As Charlotte scanned the bodies that were being carried into the hospital, she finally saw him. She could recognize her husband’s brown hair from miles away, and as he was merely a few feet from her, she knew it was Francis. He was kneeling near a stretcher on the ground. In it lay a body without a leg in a bloody uniform. A body too small to belong to a man.  

She rushed over to his side, dropped to her knees, closed her eyes, and hugged her husband from behind. As her orbs opened, her hand instantly covered her mouth, muffling her cries. 

“Lucas, what are you doing here? What happened to you?” Charlotte asked. She could not believe what was happening.

“I’m sorry,” Lucas said to his father in between coughs of blood. “I tried being as strong as you and Mom. I tried.”

“What have we done?” Francis asked as his tears fogged his vision. 

“I… want to… say… sorry,”

Lucas tried to speak, only his body was shutting down. It had been from the moment he was injured, and after hours of waiting for help, his mind could not function anymore. But it wouldn’t need to be for much longer. 

“No, God, you can’t do this to me. Don’t take my baby from me,” Charlotte cried out, hugging her child’s corpse. 

The sun shined again, blinding those inside, and gleaming through the hospital windows.