Seven Stories for a Summer Afternoon Read online

  She put the flower on her chest and hurried to write in order that the letter arrives to him quickly, because that night would another platoon return to the front.

   30° Hospital, France, August 20th, 1918

  My dear Gabriel!

  When I received your letter I felt relief, last night came a contingent of two hundred men, of whom many were screaming that it was a hell on earth where they were fighting and I felt fear, I was very afraid for you, I prayed not to find you among the injured and also prayed that you are still alive. You want a response to your question, you can have an answer if I can keep the same hope that you will return safe and sound.

  Do you remember that dinner when for the first time we met? I remember that I was not nice at all, nervous due to the charisma that you had. I was forced to be distant so that you never realize what you were doing to me.

  It may seem silly to you, but when you called me Liz I liked it, and I regret that then I told you how only the people who had earned my trust could call me that way, as I did not want to grow hopes, since the rumors about you were coming and going. Now, to know the real Gabriel has made my feelings burst again and that hope that once was born can now continue to grow.

  Take care of yourself, it is my only desire that I want from you.

  Liz.

  During September the advance of the allies was making victory of the war apparent, but the German trench devised a strategic defence, reestablishing was done in the Line Hindenburg in the last attempt to prolong the war.

  I wish they did not posses neither the heart of Gabriel nor of Elizabeth, who, upon receiving the last letter from Gabriel, found out that he had loved her since he met her.

  The onset of autumn rains was a serious obstacle for the communications, the transportation of supplies and the movement of heavy artillery. Every time when the casualty list arrived, Elizabeth approached with her heart in the throat and breathed when she did not find the name of her beloved Gabriel. At the beginning of October, the uncertainty that harassed her heart got the response.

   South of Cambria, September 20th, 1918

  My dear Elizabeth!

  The racket kept me quite busy and I think that the autumn has partnered with enemy to hinder communications. As soon as I got your letter, I could not wait to read it and to feel peace among all that destruction. I perfectly remember that dinner, your beautiful eyes that trapped me and to say that your look, full of contempt, stopped me from taking you to the place far away and steal a kiss, would not be honest for either of the two of us.

  The day when I kissed you at the hospital, I knew you were the woman with whom I should spend the rest of my life. Now I wonder if this desire is the same for you. I know that it is not the best way, I am sure that I will do it in person, but my heart would not feel any happiness unless my hope stays firm.

  Yours,

  Gabriel.

  The war came to a culminating stage. Elizabeth had not had a break, something for what she was grateful. The news indicated that a progress was slow despite the support of tanks and the American troops.

  The infantry was going much slower due to the intense fire of machine guns, the regiments that were moving forward towards the line of Beauvoir had serious setbacks, and by order of the higher instance, the viscount of Arlington alongside his platoon were sent to that place.

  Elizabeth wished that her response would reach the hands of the one who should get it, but the days passed, the autumn became more evident, and on one dark and cold morning the presence of a superior revealed Lady Elizabeth's identity.

  Her supervisor was surprised, she had served in the hospital for a whole year, pretending to be someone who she was not. She was invited to return immediately to England to avoid that the scandal increased.

  Her father had not reprimanded her, unlike her mother, who hinted that she was a shame for the family; and when she stepped on English soil, she received bitter news. Germans had forced the British to retreat, and this messed up communications, which led to some casualties, with the viscount of Arlington among them.

  Elizabeth sunk in deep sadness, keeping the hope that he had read her last letter, in silence she reproached herself for contempt that she gave to Gabriel in public, and prayed more than ever for a miracle.

  The first week she remained strong, but the following developments showed that, at any time, Germany would surrender and would have to accept the truth, the only way to be able to let off her grief was writing and sending her letter to an unknown destination.

   England, October 20th, 1918

  Gabriel!

  This is my second letter, hoping that you are alive. After being discovered, my mother reminds me that as soon as it will be known where I've been the last year, it will bring dishonor to my family. My father, on the other side, believes that it would not be like that, since the times have changed.

  This war has brought a turn in everyone's life and the aristocracy will not be like before.

  I've held on to thinking that you are alive and one day you will ring our doorbell and I will see you again. Many times I have wanted to visit your mother, the countess of Arlington, but I can not find the courage, I do not think I could bear to see her cry.

  Wherever you are, I will wait for you.

  Liz.

   England, October 25th, 1918

  My dear Gabriel!

  This morning my father has informed me about the negotiations between Americans and Germany, thus marking the end of the war and I wonder if you are safe. Will you come home? Will you return to me and I will I be able to give you the answer you long for?

  Sometimes I wake up with nightmares that I do not want to express here, and to soothe the feeling that overwhelms my heart, I reread your letters and I force myself to dream about you kissing me.

  Yours,

  Liz.

   England, November 25th, 1918

  Gabriel!

  The world is celebrating, the Great War has ended, leaving a desolation in the hearts of many, nightmares that we will not be able to forget and forcing us to lose the faith which held us together.

  Recently I dreamed that we were driving in your new car, travelling along the meadows of Wiltshire, that we were happy and when I woke up, I was sad.

  The days pass and I'm still having no news about you. Yesterday my father learned of our meeting at the field hospital, and without many explanations, he understood my sadness.

  He avoided asking questions and I thanked him for that. At a dinner to which I was invited was made a reference to a poem by George Herbert that I do not dare to write.

  How much I would like to hear it from you.

  The only thing that makes me know that existed those days between us is the poppy which once you had sent me. It is the memory on your promise, a promise that, perhaps, was broken by our Lord.

  I miss you so much, I will be never be able to accustom to the idea that you do not exist, I refuse to believe it.

  Liz.

  Return of the triumphal troops was a smokescreen of the reality for many families and they enjoyed a momentary happiness with the others. Soon will be Christmas, the joy of having again a father, a son or a husband was clearly visible.

  Elizabeth did not know to which group does she belong to. She attended dinners, driven by her mother, who reminded her that she had to find a husband so no one would find out of where she had been, but Elizabeth did not want at all to follow the advices of her mother, she had given away her heart on the front.

  One morning, after a long walk, the butler handed her an invitation from the earls of Arlington. Her heart got out of control, she just wanted that note to contain the news that she was expecting.

  Her mother, bewildered, waited in silence any explanation for the behavior of her daughter, but there was no response. That day and the following ones were endless and as approached the night of the dinner, the nerves took possession of her.

  She was received in a very pleasant way and s
urprised with the attitude of the counts who, in her opinion, were covering very well the fact that their son was missing.

  The earl asked her for a few minutes and she accepted, leaving again her mother confused before that temporary confidence. They both walked to the library, and once there, he began the conversation.

  —Lady Elizabeth, I am glad that You have agreed to come, I have duty to give You this.

  He went to the desk and pulled out an envelope.

  —Take the time that You need to read it, Lady Arlington and I will do everything possible to prevent them from raising questions about your absence.

  —Thank you Milord—she said, without preventing her voice from showing sadness.

  The count left Elizabeth alone, and she began to doubt in her hope, she opened the envelope and found the first letter.

   Boulogne, October 23rd, 1918

  Lady Elizabeth!

  It is a pleasure to hear again from you, I thought you became tired of an ill-timed viscount and I understand that it is the product of certain misfortunes that were delaying my early arrival.

  I have had a slight mishap with a wound in my thigh, from which thankfully I am recovering. When I woke up in the hospital, I wanted to find you, but they informed me of your urgent return.

  I have wanted to say so many things and I have not forgotten the promise, I am a man of my word. Your last letter has kept me awake, knowing that you wish us to have a life together gives me strength.

  The feeling that grows in my heart tells me that soon we will meet, have patience, my love.

  Yours,

  Gabriel.

  The eyes of Elizabeth filled with tears and she covered her mouth avoiding to let out a groan, Gabriel was alive.

   Boulogne, November 2nd, 1918

  My dear Elizabeth!

  We have won! Although I do not know really who won, what I have lived through in these four years leads me to conclude that in total we all have lost.

  From the general headquarters have given the order to stay active, soon I will return, and I want to hear that answer and seal it with a kiss that I desire so much.

  I regret that the letters arrive late, and I regret even more, not stopping to heal for your sorrow to end.

  Yours,

  Gabriel Somerset

  Her heart was galloping with feelings on the edge, she recalled the first time she stepped into that house, and how Gabriel had dared to flirt openly making her lose self-control, but fifteen days were enough to realize what was truly important.

  Someone knocked on the door and Elizabeth got out of her memories.

  —Milady, I have just received this letter.

  Elizabeth accepted it, bewildered.

  —Thank You. —The butler left her alone again and she opened the letter.

  The poppy that she found was freshly cut, and she turned around to come face to face with Gabriel, he approached her immediately, took the lapels of his jacket and wept.

  Gabriel hugged her for a long time, later he whispered in her ear some of the verses from the poem of George Herbert.

  Love bade me welcome; yet my soul drew back, guilty of dust and sin.

  But quick-eyed Love, observing me grow slack

  From my first entrance in, drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning if I lack'd anything.

  "A guest," I answer"d, "worthy to be here"; Love said, "You shall be he."

  I, the unkind, ungrateful? "Ah, my dear, I cannot look on Thee."

  Love took my hand and smiling did reply, "Who made the eyes but I?"

  Gabriel did not end the poem, since he felt the fervent need to kiss Elizabeth.

  —You owe me an explanation, Milady.—Between sobs, Elizabeth laughed—. However, my future without you is not complete and I want to recall my proposal.

  Gabriel knelt down on the floor and Elizabeth put her finger in his mouth and, in a second, replied.

  —Yes.

  About the Author

  I've been trying to make a biography different than the ones we usually see and possibly, this one for some of you might be extremely shocking, but that's just the way I am, both - controversial and different than the rest. I have always been asked where I'm from because of my accent. I answer immediately that I am from Maracaibo, Venezuela. Yes, I am Venezuelan, kidnapped years ago by a man from another continent with whom I have been learning day by day the art of living, but not complying with him, time after that appeared in my life another, whom I have loved with all my heart from the first moment he fell into my arms.

  But isn't that what you want to know? Right? We'll come to it...

  Since I was little I read a lot and devoured everything what they looted in the small library that was in the living room of that huge house of my grandmother. Even on vacation, when I was visiting my father, I read again and again books related to my country, although the ones that marked my childhood and adolescence were the books with red spine and yellow cover, which, when opened, moved me to the jungle or to travel in a submarine and, of course, to dream about a thousand and one night.

  In adolescence, from that library into my hands fell some books with implicit scenes, that I should have read later, but us readers are like that, when we just need to read and read. At school, I discovered that I liked to write, changing a few Disney stories (the whole-life ones) giving that touch of sarcastic humor that I carry and they ended up being half-controversial. I have to thank my literature teacher, his insistence on reading managed that my imagination continued developing, even though it was in a secret way.

  Unfortunately, I decided to study engineering and later management, forgetting that aspect... (I confess that I let myself be lead by what others wanted, and not what I really had to do. Something like that, if we speak about contradictions). Due to flaw or strength, sometimes I was given the opportunity to fight for my goals and others... I was given great life lessons.

  However, after immigrating because of love, the urge of writing sprouted again and since then I live with voices in my head (I'm not crazy). Those voices beg me to write their stories and I do it on fortunate islands, feeling happy about it and eager to tell stories about love and all that it brings.

  More than once, I've been asked if my novels are partly about me. No, none of them, although, since I'm a true advocate of the love on the Internet (The redhead fall in love, too, this is the base of that defense). "In November I will be published again."

  Yes, do not forget that I have a dark side. I'm a geek, crazy about the Marvel and DC movies coupled with the series and love to talk about books, novels and what I'm going to read. To that add that I'm kind of alien, I depend a lot on the Moon phases, (the astrologers justify it by the zodiac sign to which I belong).

  So, it's not expected that sometimes I would be on the side of the ringleaders leading certain unusual movements, but the opposite, I prefer to disappear, because, in those moments, I climb on the moon to dream on while I'm writing a story that you could enjoy.

  Do you want to know more? I invite you to get to know my novels and follow me on my social network profiles.

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  Jossy Loes

  Thanks

  I'm going to thank in first place to my family, in the past few months they have supported me and encouraged me to move forward. Raquel Antúnez, a precursor of the idea of bringing to light those little stories that we have left aside and for your support in publishing.

  Leticia White, for helping me to create the covers as well as Románticanarias that suggested improve part of it, to A. G. Keller, who has a touch in the layout which I lack of, to Barbara Padron Santana for correction and for being a zero reader and to you, my dear readers, for giving me once more the opportunity of reaching your homes.

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  [1] Irish frame drum.

  [2] Word Canaria (party, meeting)

  [3] South bow of the beach of Las Canteras.

  [4] Hat from the era of the English Regency.

  [5] Gofio is a food of flour of toasted grains, usually of wheat or corn that has to be stirred into a warm broth until it obtains thick consistency.

  [6] Canary word, although its meaning is “to play a stringed instrument with little harmony”, on this occasion speaks of sexual relations.

  [7] Local newspaper of Gran Canaria.

  [8]Sweetness that is born out of the sugar cane.

  [9] Beautiful in Scottish, a language which is spoken in Scotland.

  [10] Hello or perhaps how are you in Scottish.

  [11] It is a typical complement to the traditional costume of the Highlands of Scotland.