To Aveyron With Love

From Moureau

My dearest Lucienne,

The officers say the end is coming. I do not know if I believe them. For all these years, the Boche has torn apart our land, I dare not believe it will be over soon. But I have prayed, my wife. I prayed for the first time since I put a rifle to my first dead German, that it was true. For the first time, I dare to hope, against all hope, that I may see you again.

How is the farm? In my mind, I still see the fields, golden with wheat, but I do not imagine the harvest has yielded much these last years. That is all right, my love. We will make it grow again.

What of Lydie and and Martin? They must be growing as well. I could not believe it when I realized my little girl would be nearly thirteen now. Nearly a young woman. You have told me Martin is helping you with the work in the fields. It seemed he had barely stopped toddling when I was yanked away from you. It grieves me more than all the death I have seen, that I have missed so much of my children's lives. And that I have not been there to protect you.

May God protect you, my love, my wife. I truly pray this will all be over soon, and that I may see the end of it.

Love,
Jacques

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