A Woman’s War

In 1914, the world descended into war. Nineteen-year-old Elodie Fabien finds herself a refugee in her own country. She wants to help, but the only people who want her are the women of the First Aid Nursing Yeomanry. The FANYS are on their way to Calais where the Belgian Army has an understaffed hospital. From Calais, Elodie finds herself on the front line of history.

Based on real women who served in the trenches, clearing stations, and hospitals, A Woman’s War brings to life the forgotten women on the front lines of the most brutal war in human history.

“Wow! This whole section is really well done. Had to sneak off to the bathroom to wipe my eyes, as I am editing this (in public).”

“Powerful, moving, sometimes funny or poignant – well done!

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Chapter 1: August 1914

“The lamps are going out all over Europe; we shall not see them lit again in our lifetime” – Sir Edward Grey, British foreign secretary. August 1914

July 31, 1914
Outside Reims, France

“It’s a squirrel, you coward,” Elodie Fabien laughed at the big brown Norman Cob who had shied sideways at the angry chittering above him. “If he throws acorns, perhaps you have a reason, but this is just noise.”

The horse shook his head, pawing in impatience. Under his thick mane, his too-short ears, frostbitten as a colt during a winter blizzard, flicked back and forth, setting his mane dancing. Elodie pressed her heels to his sides to drive him forward. He gave in with good grace, cantering toward a fence a few strides away. He gathered his hindquarters under him, powering up and over. He took a short step and settled. His rider petted his neck before picking up contact again and rounding toward another jump.

The early morning light filtered through the trees lining the jump alley that ran between vineyards to the west and pastureland to the east. Some long-ago ancestor decided that this road of trees would provide a windbreak for the precious grape vines. Successive generations had turned it into a pleasant bridle path. To the north lay the Belgian frontier. Behind the horse and rider, the tall steeple of Reims Cathedral was just visible as a distant suggestion.

Wherever a tree had aged and fallen, light stretched shadows across the lane and flickered as the leaves trembled overhead. It was going to be a hot morning. A few more jumps and the pair had reached the end of the alley before horse and rider turned back to the farmhouse and breakfast. The horse settled into a long swinging walk, blowing as he caught his breath. Elodie pulled at the cotton of her jodhpurs, trying to work air onto hot legs. Her calves were wrapped in cloth puttees, now dark with horsehair and sweat. She settled back into the saddle and, feeling guilty at the sloppiness, loosed her linen jacket’s buttons. The faint breeze cooled the silk of her riding blouse, at least.

She sometimes wondered at the British and their love of hot clothing. Paris might rule the fashion world, but the British set the standards for proper riding dress. She knew very well her mother preferred her to ride sidesaddle. Elodie grimaced. This particular horse hated skirts flapping against his sides and was spooky and difficult to ride aside rather than astride. Of course, Elodie tossed her head unconsciously, she rode sidesaddle as well as she did astride. She had, in fact, ridden aside over every obstacle in the alley, but it was the principle. Riding habits might be chic, but she preferred to mount without a groom’s help.

Pulling off her velvet cap, she welcomed the suddenly cool breeze in her sweaty hair. She wiped her face, dropping her reins as she did so. Another complaint Maman would have – this sweating like a farm hand. But soon, all those complaints would be behind her. Ahead of her lay a year in Paris at the Sorbonne. She twirled her chestnut hair and then tucked it back under the cap. Of course, while the complaints would end, so too would early morning rides through the countryside around Reims. She sighed and picked up the reins again.

As they neared the stables, the sound of the stableman shaking out buckets brought the horse’s head up, his ears pricked in eagerness for his breakfast. He jigged a bit but settled obediently. Elodie slid off, dropping gently to her toes and petting his shoulder. He nuzzled her absent-mindedly and then focused on the sound of grain rattling into feed pans. She slid the reins over his neck and led him into the still-cool stables.

“Miss Elodie, I thought it was you who took Brûlée out,” the stableman, Alain, greeted her. “How was he?”

“Fresh enough to spook at squirrels,” Elodie replied, slipping off the bridle and handing it to Alain before she haltered the horse. “He is such a jumper. I am going to miss him when I go to university.” Brûlée sneezed and then rubbed his head against her jacket. She pushed him away and brushed ineffectively at the brown hairs he left behind. Together, the two of them untacked the horse and put him up, where he lost interest in them, burying his nose in his feed pan. Elodie gave him an affectionate pat and locked the stall door behind her.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she called out and left the stables. She contemplated the house. The trick was to get to her room before her mother noticed that she was wearing jodhpurs. Elodie dusted at her jacket again.

She was just passing the big oak tree that graced their farmyard when her mother’s voice rang out, calling Elodie’s younger brother Theo to breakfast. Elodie frowned and backed up to keep the oak between her and the house. She looked up into the tree she used to climb when she was Theo’s age. Perhaps she still could climb it and wait until her mother left the back of the house? She could then creep in unseen. The slick soles of her boots put paid to that idea.

Instead, Elodie sat down at the base of the tree and pulled off her velvet cap again. Her hair tumbled down, parts of it stuck flat with sweat and parts wild from the gallop. She pulled out what remained of the braid and finger-combed the tresses. It dried quickly in the heat and she rebraided it. Perhaps if she were neater, her mother would be less critical. Elodie started as the kitchen door slammed.

Theo came around the tree, carefully balancing a cup of coffee on a saucer, a small roll beside it. His cheerful ten-year-old face was set in concentration to keep from spilling his burden and his cheek was stained with strawberry jelly that had escaped a cursory wipe with a napkin. He handed her the saucer and cup and stood looking down at her with a serious expression. The comforting smell of hot coffee and freshly cooked bread made her stomach growl.

“Thank you, Theo.” Elodie settled the cup and took a sip.

“Maman says if you went out riding this morning in men’s clothing, she is going to beat you,” Theo said gravely. “Can I watch?”

“Don’t be silly. You know Maman would never do that,” Elodie chided him.

“It’s because Tante Grete is here, and Maman wants you to make a good impression on her and give up on going to university and marry Lothar.” Theo did not pause for a breath. Elodie chewed on the roll to keep rude words from tumbling out.

Elodie had gone to convent school, learning the art of running a proper Catholic household. At fifteen, she had gone on to the girls’ lycée which was an extension of the convent, focused on turning out good homemakers. A year ago, at eighteen, she had graduated. Her parents had sent her on a modest tour with an Englishwoman and then the bargaining had begun. Isabeau wished her daughter to marry by twenty. The daughter wished to attend university first. There were too many interesting things to do and see out in the world beyond the farm gates.

Her father had listened gravely and after six months of pleading, he had handed down his decision. Elodie could attend one year of university. She would then return and marry after she reached twenty-one. As with all Solomonic decisions, it left neither party completely happy nor completely injured.

“I’m not going to marry Lothar,” Elodie said finally. “Not now or ever.” Theo sat down beside her.

“I should hope not. He’s chiant,” Theo stated. Elodie giggled at her little brother recognizing that Lothar was dull. “And you didn’t seem to enjoy kissing him last summer,” Theo went on with a hint of mischief in his eyes.

“Theodore!” Elodie gasped.

“I wasn’t spying. Honest, Elodie. I was just avoiding Stephan. I ran around the stables and there you were.”

Elodie could hardly blame him for trying to avoid Stephan, and that brought her back to the problems of the day: getting into the house and why her mother was more prickly than usual. Her mother, Isabeau, was hosting her best friend, Grete Rohr. They had been close since their school days in Switzerland and the women and their children had spent a good deal of time together over the years. Grete was on her way to put her youngest son, Stephan, on a ship from France to England for his fifth year at Eton. They could have sailed from a German port, but this gave Grete and Isabeau a chance to gossip.

Elodie found the entire family a trial. Stephan, the youngest boy of fifteen, was a monster. Elodie wholeheartedly loathed him. The daughter, Mathilde, was two years younger than Elodie and nice enough, but staid and dull. Then there was Lothar. She had imagined him as a German prince in an opera when she was younger, with herself as the heroine. In reality, he was only marginally better than his little brother. Lother had two interests in life: himself and the German army. He was at the Preußische Kriegsakademie, the German military academy, becoming more of a pompous bore.

Tante Grete was, all things considered, not too bad – just stuffy. At least her husband, the Colonel, had not come on this trip. Colonel Rohr barely tolerated his wife’s French friend and spent most of his time angering Elodie’s father with pronouncements of German greatness.

“How do you always manage to be everywhere and overhearing everything?” Elodie asked mildly. Theo’s face took on such a look of mischief that Elodie laughed.

“I am going to miss you when you leave for university.” He changed the subject.

“I’ll miss you too, mon vilain. But I will be home for holidays.”

“Bring me something good.”

“I will.” Elodie drained her coffee cup and climbed to her feet. “Go see if I can make it through the kitchen without Maman seeing me.”