The year is 1914 and war is erupting in Europe. Henri and his older brother are eager to join the war effort as they depart their bucolic French village to fight the Germans. Fighting side by side as snipers, the brothers struggle to survive the horror of trench warfare. As the Battle of the Somme unfolds its grisly terror, Henri's older brother is mortally wounded. Traumatized and grieving, Henri huddles next to his dying brother in a battlefield hospital. As death closes in, Henri's brother reveals a secret, a dark truth. Struggling to accept the revelation, Henri reluctantly agrees to fulfill a promise to his dying brother.
Henri is a mere shadow of his former self as he returns to Bayeux. Although WW1 is over, there are still battles to be fought as Henri struggles to heal himself and restore the family farm. Along the way, he must find the courage to confront the secrets and injustices of the past, and ultimately fulfill the promise he made to his dying brother.
This is much more than a war story. It's a family saga that demonstrates that hope and love can prevail amidst the tragedy and destruction of war.
The year is 1914 and war is erupting in Europe. Henri and his older brother are eager to join the war effort as they depart their bucolic French village to fight the Germans. Fighting side by side as snipers, the brothers struggle to survive the horror of trench warfare. As the Battle of the Somme unfolds its grisly terror, Henri's older brother is mortally wounded. Traumatized and grieving, Henri huddles next to his dying brother in a battlefield hospital. As death closes in, Henri's brother reveals a secret, a dark truth. Struggling to accept the revelation, Henri reluctantly agrees to fulfill a promise to his dying brother.
Henri is a mere shadow of his former self as he returns to Bayeux. Although WW1 is over, there are still battles to be fought as Henri struggles to heal himself and restore the family farm. Along the way, he must find the courage to confront the secrets and injustices of the past, and ultimately fulfill the promise he made to his dying brother.
This is much more than a war story. It's a family saga that demonstrates that hope and love can prevail amidst the tragedy and destruction of war.
1918-Bayeux, France
Thankfully, the villagers were oblivious to the hollow-eyed soldier who intensely watched them, as they flocked toward the massive stone church. The December wind was cold and blustery, causing the townspeople to burrow their heads deep into the collars of their coats, and cast their eyes downward to shield them from the icy snowflakes, averting their gazes away from the disturbing presence watching from the shadows.
The rhythmic clanging jolted him with memories that shrouded this place, and his life before the war. It had been four years since he left with his brother, but only one of them had returned. It was painful to remember the last time he had been in this town square, basking in the joyful send-off celebration, as the brothers eagerly left with other local boys to fight the Germans. He had worn his new uniform so proudly, as beautiful Sophie tearfully clung to him, kissing him goodbye. He had not seen or heard from his beloved Sophie since that fateful day. The mystery of it still fogged his memories, and he was no longer certain if he had really loved her, nor if she had loved him. Henri breathed deeply, trying to calm the torment sweeping through him, threatening to make him walk away from this place, walk away from the memories.
With the calculated eye of an experienced sniper, he took in the town of Bayeux. The ancient, cobbled streets were as he remembered them. The mosaic of intricately crafted gray stone buildings that bordered the main street radiated a mysterious aura of resilience and history. But there was a visible sense of tiredness, too. The small stone shops and restaurants that charmingly bordered the main street looked neglected and were devoid of any greenery in celebration of the Christmas season. The war years had obviously been hard on the town. Looming over the tired little French village was the magnificent Bayeux Cathedral. The towering Roman and Gothic architecture seemed very much out of place amidst the humble local businesses. Dating back to the time of William the Conqueror, the Roman Catholic Church had been the center of life in Bayeux for centuries. Surprisingly, most of the stories and history surrounding this impressive bastion of religion were unknown to the average citizen of the town. They simply knew this imposing structure as their church. It was the life center of all events in the village. If the walls of the Bayeux Cathedral could talk, the stories would be mostly of christenings, weddings, and funerals. But intermixed with the routine rituals of life, there would be damning stories, too.
Henri had powerful memories of this church. It had been an important part of his childhood. As the church bells rang out and summoned the local parishioners to Sunday mass, Henri was drawn, almost trance-like, to the ancient structure.
As he prepared to step into the town square, he was suddenly aware of his appearance, and he began to brush the dirt and dust from his tattered uniform, while also trying to smooth his dirty hair. He had not shaved since he had begun the long walk back to Bayeux from the battlefield in northern France, and his dirty facial hair gave him a disheveled, haunted look. Cautiously, reluctantly, he hid his sniper rifle under a scraggly bush at the edge of the town square. The lethal artifact had been a part of him, keeping him safe throughout the war. When his unit was disbanded, after the armistice, he walked away with it, his only companion on the long journey home.
With a wariness that had become integral to his survival, Henri stepped into the main street. He tried to blend inconspicuously into the crowd of people who were making their way to the entrance of the church, but his presence was anything but inconspicuous. The soiled, tattered French uniform and his haunting, battle-worn appearance made people instinctively step away from him. He was barely recognizable even to these people whom he had known all his life. The change in Henri was dramatic and more than a little frightening. In his youth, he had been a friendly, charismatic boy. The hollow-eyed, weary looking soldier who walked among his fellow parishioners appeared to be a disturbing shadow of his former self.
Father Bernard was standing at the entrance greeting his people and welcoming them into the church. The priest had stood with these parishioners through all the grief of the war, and it had aged him. Perceptive as always, Father Bernard immediately noticed the gaunt, troubled-looking soldier making his way toward the church. His heart lurched with concern, as he watched the parishioners suddenly grow quiet and wary, as Henri walked among them. The priest had been anxiously waiting for the return of this soldier since the war had ended over a month ago. Awkwardly, Henri stopped in front of the priest, his troubled gaze silently communicating volumes, as their eyes met. The priest smiled slightly, trying hard not to let his concern cloud the moment, as he quietly welcomed him home. Henri nodded numbly, as he silently acknowledged the priests welcome, before making his way to a seat in the back of the crowded church.
Father Bernard had welcomed several of the local returning soldiers in the last weeks since the war ended. The townâs surviving warriors had come trickling back to their community, to their families. A number of these returning soldiers were obviously injured, but many had a troubled, vacant look that communicated much more than the spoken word. Over one-third of the townâs young men had been killed in the war, and these few survivors were looked upon with reverence, as hope slowly ebbed back into the town of Bayeux. There was a growing sense of excitement and anticipation as these war-weary soldiers returned to the place of their birth and families. It was the Christmas season, and the year of 1918 seemed unusually blessed. So much had been endured and lost by the people of Bayeux, that there was an almost unrealistic expectation that these few surviving warriors could somehow heal the gaping emotional wounds that affected the entire community.
As the priest looked from the back of the church at his people, his community, he could not help but feel pleased. The beautiful morning light shone hopefully through the colorful stained glass, illuminating the scene in the crowded church. Tightly packed in the ancient wooden pews, the parishioners seemed to bask in their togetherness. There was an expectant air, as spicy incense infused the ancient church with the fragrant aroma of spirituality and hope.
Sister Marguerite stepped forward to direct the restless group of children in faded choir robes. The children were excited, as they knew this was a special mass. The town was celebrating the return of their soldiers, and it was also the Christmas season. The children had been deeply impacted by the war. Several had lost family members, and the toll on the youngest members of the community could be seen in their serious faces. But children are instinctively natural survivors. At times when it was known that enormous battles raged across northern France, it was the children hopefully singing their hymns that inspired the congregation to keep the faith. As the pretty, middle-aged nun nodded to the children and signaled to the organist, Henri suddenly looked up and took notice of this woman. She was a talented childrenâs choir director, and it was apparent in her orchestration of the clear, harmonious voices singing the hymns of the season. There was hardly a dry eye in the church, as the music filled the soaring space, and somehow brought the communityâs pent-up joy and emotion bubbling to the surface. The returning soldiers were particularly moved by the coalescence of togetherness, music, and incense into the religious celebration.
At the completion of the opening hymn, Sister Marguerite turned and overlooked the congregation from her elevated perch. She discreetly scanned the crowded church, searching for him. Her heart fluttered as she spotted a dirty, disheveled soldier in the back pew. He looked thinner and hauntingly older, but she was sure that it was him. Marguerite struggled to maintain her composure, suddenly feeling faint. With deliberation, she turned her back to the congregation and fought to control the surge of feelings that threatened to overtake her. Stoically, she took a deep breath and focused her attention on the choir.
The priest noticed the stricken look on the nunâs face, and he knew that she had spotted Henri. He secretly worried that Sister Margueriteâs reunification with this beloved young man would prove to be painful. Father Bernard knew this family well. If he were being completely honest with himself, he would admit that he loved them. He knew their secrets and had been with them through painful times. When Margueriteâs sister, brother-in-law, and nephew had been killed in the war, it was Father Bernard who had tenderly cared for the nun, and patiently coached her back from despair.
Father Bernard proudly looked out over the crowded church from his elevated pulpit. Having arrived in Bayeux, newly ordained, twenty-three years ago, it was in this little Normandy village where he found his true calling. Oddly, it was the community that anchored him in their faith and gave the young priest a sense of belonging that had been completely absent in his youth. Several times, Father Bernard had struggled with the church hierarchy as they sought to reassign him to another parish. Through luck and circumstance, he had somehow managed to stay in Bayeux. The villagers loved and respected him. He had been with them through many a storm, and they accepted him as one of their own.
He did not look like a typical priest. Even under the cover of the long black robe, he appeared muscular. His face was chiseled with dark, expressive eyes. The handsome face was oddly an anomaly for a man of the cloth. In addition to his uncommon, good looks, there was something innately alert and perceptive about him. He had proven himself to be compassionate, but also practical. His humanity had been his guiding principle as he provided leadership in a sometimes inflexible, judgmental religion. Father Bernard had done things that would never have been sanctioned by the church leaders, but he was mostly at peace with himself.
Father Bernard sensed the emotion within the confines of his crowded church and kept his sermon simple and brief. The message was succinct, but powerful. It was time to heal, and time to celebrate the return of the townâs soldiers. These battle-weary men would need the support and gratitude of the townsfolk to rebuild their lives. The losses within the community were obvious as you looked at the families that were missing their young men. Father Bernard urged his congregation to remember, but not let bitterness reign. Hate and bitterness would waste the freedom that these young men had fought so hard to preserve. A life well-lived must encompass love and hope.
As the last hymn was being sung in an eerily harmonious manner, Henri visually scanned the crowded cathedral, looking for Sophie. His mind was a jumble of confusion as he thought of her, desperately searching, hoping to somehow find her. But he knew that this young woman who still haunted his memories would not be there. The circumstances and tragic decisions of the last few years could not be so easily undone. Henri stood quietly with his head hanging, as the parishioners filed eagerly out of the church in anticipation of celebratory feasts.
Sister Marguerite slipped away as the choir was dispersing and moved to the back of the church. She stood in the shadow of the massive stone arch as the church emptied. Quietly, intensely, she stared at him. Marguerite loved this young man with her whole heart. Sensing her presence, Henri looked up and met her concerned gaze. The flicker of recognition in his troubled eyes was unmistakable. A small nod communicated much to Sister Marguerite. When they were finally alone, the nun approached Henri slowly, taking in his vastly different appearance, almost afraid of what she might discover about him. She reached out to him like he might be a terrified animal, and finally their tear-filled eyes met. He stepped forward and collapsed into her open arms, both sobbing convulsively. Thankful for the privacy of the empty church, they held each other for the longest time. This woman that Henri had known as his aunt was remarkably similar in appearance and mannerisms to his deceased mother. She had always been present throughout his young life, but her unfaltering love and devotion to him during the last year of the war had almost certainly kept him alive, as he struggled to find a reason to go on. Her regular letters and packages had been a steady stream of love and connection that kept him afloat as he floundered in a sea of despair.
Marguerite looked up with reverence and sincere gratitude as she prayed out loud, âThank you God for bringing him safely back to me.âÂ
Henri instinctively recoiled in anger. Visibly shaking, he shouted in the tenor of a wounded animal, âNo! Do not give thanks to this God!âÂ
Marguerite was stunned and a little frightened by the outburst. She struggled to compose herself and respond to Henri in a reassuring manner. The nun reached out to comfort the distraught young man, but he pulled back. In a near whisper, Marguerite said, âGod is still with you. He has not abandoned you.â
His voice escalating, Henri responded in an almost feral shout, âYou have not seen what I have seen!â
Marguerite could hardly breathe as she took in the wreck of the
young man before her. Gaunt, with a wild-eyed look, Henri was almost unrecognizable. But it was his obvious mental torment that she found most disturbing.
Sister Marguerite innately understood the lapse in faith. Henri had fought for four long years and had endured the loss of many friends, but most poignantly he had lost his mother, father, and brother. He was questioning his faith in a God that would allow such suffering. Sensing the fragility in this young man, she quietly embraced him.
Hearing the outburst, Father Bernard hurried back into the cavernous main seating area of the cathedral to find the gut-wrenching scene. He could sense the pain and turmoil as he quickly took in the drama. Hiding in the shadows, holding his breath, he listened. Finally, with a heavy heart, he slipped away to his office so that they might once again have the freedom of privacy.
In a state of agitation, Henri uttered, âI need to get to the farm.â But Sister Marguerite knew that he was not emotionally prepared for what he was likely to encounter. With a forced calmness that she did not feel, she said, âYouâll be there soon enough.â
âNo, I need to go now.â
She sighed as she said, âWell, you will be back on the farm before you know it. But it looks to me like youâre in need of a bath, and a haircut, and a shave. And something tells me that youâve probably picked up a few unwelcome travelers....in the form of lice.â
Henri smiled weakly as he said, âOh, yes, Iâve definitely been carrying some unwanted travelers.â
Marguerite slipped her arm around Henri, gently guiding him to a nearby building where she occupied a single room. The room was simply furnished, but it had all the essentials for a comfortable existence. A small cast iron stove was emitting wonderful heat throughout the relatively small efficiency apartment. Marguerite added wood and proceeded to stoke the fire, as she prepared to heat water for Henriâs bath. There was a bathing tub in the corner and a pile of clean clothing on a nearby chair. It was obvious that much thought and preparation had gone into the anticipation of Henriâs return.
Unfolding a privacy screen around the bathing tub, she instructed the man-child to remove his clothes. He was embarrassed and began to protest, but Marguerite was undeterred. Reluctantly, he handed her individual pieces of his military clothing. One by one, the nun fed the lice-infested articles of clothing into the wood burning stove. She handed a bar of strong lye soap and a brush over the top of the screen. As Henri sank his tired, dirty body into the warm water, a sense of calm started to settle into him. But the calm was quickly disrupted by Margueriteâs instructions to scrub hard. When Henri was done, Marguerite handed a blanket over the screen. As he huddled in the corner wrapped in the blanket, she emptied the shockingly dirty water. Refilling the tub with clean, cold water, she added heated water to make the temperature tolerable. Again, Henri submerged himself and scrubbed until Marguerite finally agreed that he might indeed be free of pestilence.
Henri emerged from behind the screen wearing an odd assemblage of coarsely woven, warm clothing. Although the boots were worn, they had no holes and fit quite nicely. The luxury and pure comfort of clean, warm clothing brought tears to his eyes. He was embarrassed by his blatant expression of emotion, but Marguerite pretended not to notice. She was indeed proud of her ingenuity in putting together such practical, warm clothing for her returning soldier. Marguerite had scavenged through the clothing donations that had been made to the church to assemble the outfit. She had even managed to find a coat and gloves.
Clean and clothed, Henri was instructed to sit in a chair by the stove. No longer protesting, he sat quietly as Marguerite combed and cut his hair. There was an ease settling between them, a trust returning. Next, she gently, gingerly shaved him, and the transformation was quite remarkable. Although thinner and harboring an older, wearier look, he was ruggedly handsome, and he was her Henri. Marguerite studied him with the knowing eye of someone who knew deep secrets. Henri had the unmistakable eyes of his father. Light green with flecks of brown, they were his most arresting facial feature. The thick brown hair with blonde highlights was another reminder of his paternity. Henriâs fine facial features were chiseled and aristocratic, but his body was lithe and muscled, and it told of his sturdy Norman lineage. He truly was a beautiful young man.
Henri has lost more than he thought possible due to the war. He is still a young man but feels incredibly old as he makes his way back home in 1918. Armed with his sniper rifle and the deathbed confession his brother made, Henri arrives in Bayeux determined to make a life for himself and rectify the wrongs of the past.Â
Henriâs Aunt Marguerite is beyond relieved to see Henri show up in the back of the cathedral but is soon concerned at his state of mind from the trauma he endured after four years of war. Marguerite makes it her mission to get Henri back on his feet physically, mentally, and emotionally. However, Marguerite is harboring secrets of her own that threaten the fragile path to healing Henri is on.Â
Told in interwoven timeframes, Cilinda Stroud weaves the past and the present together. Normally, I love interwoven timeframes, but I feel that these time frames could be placed differently to create larger senses of intrigue and suspense. Despite the synopsis primarily being about Henriâs struggle to move past the horrors of war, the main focus of the book is on Margueriteâs life. Because of this, a primary problem and cause of turmoil for Henri is over shadowed and added almost as an afterthought at the end of the book. An epilogue might help tie things together and give the reader a better sense of peace for Henri rather than a seemingly hasty ending.
The language used in the book is simplistic and repetitive. The book holds a few moments where the authorâs words bring the reader angst but not to the level one would expect from this type of saga and the drama unearthed.   Â
Return to Bayeux has strong themes of family, unconditional love, and commitment to forces greater than oneself.Â
If youâre a fan of historical fiction, Return to Bayeux is a sweet story that emphasizes how the bonds of family, friendship, love can help one overcome times of trial. While the story is sweet, it does seem to lack the depth and conviction I have come to expect from historical fiction.
Warning: There is a graphic battle scene included in the beginning of the book.