Delilah in the French yard

As the church bells sang its last song of ringing chorus, night soon fell over the city of Lyon. Behind the lines of brick homes and views of the whistling waters, in a little spot hidden among the trees, sat the one barn where young Delilah lived. Although one would not imagine a single barn only minutes away from a bustling city, the story of Delilah’s lovely home is a tale passed around by the young children of Lyon, who spy on the poor woman in her gathering of garden fruits. 

Born into a wealthy family in the beauty of Chartres, Delilah had married a man from Paris, named Gervais. Gervais was now a businessman, but once was a man of military, a title he kept even in the conferences of his work. In part of his duty, he had a brief time where he served under American militia. He had fallen in love with the southern countryside, begging his men to camp just where he could stalk the sights of a grassy prairie. When he returned to Delilah, where she had resided in their family home of now vintage Lyon, he promptly grabbed their bags and moved to a spot just outside the city. With his bare hands and fingers, Gervais built an All-American barn, along with a rural American home. 

Since then, the couple had lived there together, with Delilah tending to the home, and Gervais hours away in his proper, business workplace. Gervais often came home late, and on some days, he came home on early mornings just seconds after the roosters call. Farm life was indeed hard, but yet, the both of them shared a quite life.

Delilah laid in bed, peacefully watching the dancing flame of the brightening candlelight. Every night, she waited for Gervais until her eyes grew tired and weary. The night was beginning to grow darker, and Delilah had hoped Gervais would arrive early tonight, just as she did every morning as he left the door. Tonight however, she had especially wished he’d come home on the dot, for she had held him a gracious gift.  During her evening visit around the markets of Lyon, Delilah had spotted a man selling seeds of Coreopsis. Delilah liked to keep her garden natural, planting the soil with flower seeds she had found herself amongst the grasses of her own home, yet the sight of those sweet Coreopsis seeds nearly made her mad. Such a rare find to see such a flower in the markets of a stubborn French city, for a flower such as that one only grew in the Great Plaines of America, a landmark Gervais always kept in his heart. 

So Delilah snagged the seeds for a fair price from the man, and quickly ran home to plant them in their beloved garden. All day and all night, she waited and waited for Gervais to return home, so that she could pull him by his collar and swiftly show him the soil in which the beautiful seeds laid. And as the time nearly hit midnight, Delilah heard the turn of a knob coming from the home’s front door. She sat up, and gathered her blankets in a fistful of excitement. Footsteps echoed, and Gervais opened the door to his waiting wife. Except, his eyes did not meet hers as hers met his. Delilah looked into the hands of Gervais, and in his right grasp, he held a letter written with the fanciest of ink. In the letter, the first words written, “Dear Gervais Aubert of Lyon, we humbly ask you to return to war.”.