How we feeling about Dawson? Want to read more about him? :)

Lucille

The field of lavender was flecked with blue, their green stalks gracefully swaying in the wind. Their sweet fragrance filled the air, carrying as far as the trees, and lightly tickling Lucille's nose.

She reached her hand into the edges of the field, her fingers disappearing in a cloud of purple and returning with the flowers bunched in her palm. Placing them in her basket, Lucille sat up from her place against a bordering tree and turned away, heading back for the house.

Evening was drawing in quickly as Lucille stood in her kitchen, her hands covered in dusty white flour, the bench equally as messy. In front of her, a bowl sat filled with a sweet smelling mixture, ready to be poured into tins and locked in the oven.

When she would bake, it was always clear that Lucille was in a world of her own. It was in her imagination, where she could build her village in her mind just how it used to be. But it always left her feeling somewhat hollow after coming out of the dream-like trance, and she often burned the bread, much to her fathers annoyance.

"Lucille." Her father shouted her name, breaking her from the day dream. "Do you have anything from the bakers?"

"There was only this loaf left. But I'm baking some cakes. To raise some spirits a bit, I think." She replied, slapping his hand away as his finger reached to dip into the raw mixture. "Don't! It's not good for you."

Her father had been in a weird mood since she had left early that morning. He was unusually smiley and acted as if nothing was wrong. It was if they had turned back time, to as far as when even her mother was still alive.

She groaned as he reached back into the bowl, scooping up the spoon in his grip and licked it clean. He laughed at her reaction, but they were interrupted by harsh footsteps. Maron nudged Lucille to the side, his face quickly becoming stern and shoulders squared.

The German glanced into the kitchen with a hooded gaze, stopping shortly for a moment, before retreating to the courtyard. The pair watched through the window as a car pulled up, whisking him away.

"I don't like him being here." Lucille whispered.

"You think I do?" Her father snapped, his mood instantly turning sour.

"Why don't you go stay with that friend of yours for a while?" Her father suggested.

Lucille began to shake her head, thinking of the fact that Amélie had been posted with a soldier that morning. But she quickly stopped herself. Anything was better than staying meters away from a soldier with such a high position. The loft would be perfect. No one would know and she would be safe.

"I think I might. I'll come every morning in time though." She said, think of the fact that she had to make breakfast- she couldn't imagine her father doing it any longer.

"Be careful, Lucille." Her father said finally, as he stroked her hair, sliding off at last, leaving her to bake.

This time, the buns didn't burn. Instead their tops were lightly golden, flecked with purple, which was covered by a sweet, lilac icing. Lucille placed them into a cake tin and into another bag that had been resting on the windowsill.

In just a short time, it had already gotten dark and her father had already fallen asleep on his arm chair in the sitting room. With the German in the house at night, he couldn't sleep. Lucille stepped slowly and carefully up the stairs, leaving him sleeping with two bowls of cold soup on the kitchen table, a quarter of a loaf of bread next to it and a plate of pastry for the morning.

The soldier's door to his room was left wide open, showing how the messy room had been made, with no foreign uniform on sight. Lucille moved the drawer set again, shifting it to an angle that would allow her arms to push open the top of the wood that blocked the loft in. She tapped on it first before pushing it up quickly and placing her hands over the edge, reaching for help. Two sets of hands pulled her up, her legs gradually floating to the next level of her home, until the disappeared after pushing the drawers back with her shoes.

"Evening." She greeted, before closing the entrance back up, placing the cloth layer that blanked out any unlucky escape of light.

She glanced up as they responded, taking in their appearance. They looked no different, a little more disheveled but still the same. They had begun to smell- she wasn't surprised, given the amount of days that they had been stuck up in one musty room. She would have to find a way to get them to the bath before they would eventually and hopefully leave.

"I've baked some things." She said as she pulled the tin from her bag and placed it in front of them. Tommy and Dawson reached into the tin, pulling a bun out each and took a bite.

"What is this?" Dawson asked, looking down in confusion.

"Do you not like it?" She asked him, but he shook his head frantically.

"No, I do. I just don't recognise the taste." He said with a blush.

"They're lavender cakes." She said, taking one for herself.

"Lavender?"

"Yes, we have plenty of it." She said, and her eyes widened at their confusion. "You didn't see the fields."

She placed her cake, half-eaten, back into the tin before standing up and walking to the corner of the loft, where the roof lifted up. She peeled an eye out, surveying the courtyard before calling the boys over.

"You can't really see them from here." She said, but pointed to the small corner of purple that could be seen from the hole in the roof.

"You grow lavender?" Tommy asked, and Lucille nodded.

"It's used for oil and baking and such. It's actually used by nurses a lot." She explained, her eyes passing over the small area of the fields that could be seen.

"When you are both better, I will take you to the fields, and show you where the grass grows greener than anywhere in the village." She paused, a blissful smile gracing her lips. "It really is beautiful."

"I bet it is." Tommy breathed out, glancing to her from the corner of his eye.

"I think I'll stay and feed the chickens then." Dawson piped up, looking between the two.

"I like chickens." He lied with a shrug and Tommy shook his head.

"I was supposed to stay with a friend further in the village, but she was posted with a soldier yesterday morning." Lucille continued, as she picked up her cake agin from the tin, moving toward her bag. "I'm going to have to stay here."

"Why can't you stay downstairs?" Dawson asked.

"My father wanted me to stay with a friend. We don't like the soldier. He's strange and creeps around a lot." Lucille said as she pulled her own blanket from the small bag that she had brought up with her.

"I brought some pastries for the morning, too." She said as she pulled out another tin, placing it to the side. "And a book for you, Tommy."

"Anyway, how are you feeling?" She asked them both.

Dawson sighed happily, leaning back into his arms. "I'm great."

Tommy nodded slowly. He said, "I'm good."

"How long until you'll be well enough to leave." She asked. "I think I have a way out."

Dawson shifted onto his hip and rolled up his shirt. Tommy let his own shirt drop from one shoulder, revealing the black and blue bruises that shadowed his skin. They were getting better, though there sounds were still rough.

"I know it's long but a few weeks maybe?" Dawson said and Tommy nodded in agreement.

"If that's okay." Tommy adder and Lucille nodded with a smile.

"I went into the village today, to meet some- friends." She said, stuttering toward the end of the statement. "The girls, we're all working together to get through this."

"We'll get you through this." She said, reaching out to touch them comfortingly with a warm and encouraging smile.

"Did you tell them about us?" Tommy asked.

"No. I'd never trust them with the knowledge." She said, chucking. "I'm smarter than that."

"How about we get into that book, Tommy?" She said finally, pulling the old and battered copy from her bag.

"Help yourself to cake." She said, after noticing Dawson's hungry gaze, eyeing up the tin.

"You said you know the bare basics but can't put it together so I thought we'd start of by seeing how far you can get." She instructed, opening the book to the first chapter.

"Don't expect much. I can say the alphabet and that's about it." Tommy muttered, as he took the book into his own hands.

"How about I say it along with you?" She suggested, smoothing the pages down so that it rested between them as she shuffled closer to be able to read the tiny print. "You can get used to recognising the basics first."

Tommy nodded and so she turned to the book, waiting for him to read the first line so she could follow.

"Th- there was. There was no." Tommy began to read the simple line with stutters places at almost each letter. Lucille carried the words along with him, speaking them clearly so he could hear them properly.

"Possi- possibility?" He stuttered our in question.

"Yes, possibility."

They continued to read slowly as Dawson chomped down on his third cake in his own portion of the room. Tommy began to grow whiter and quieter as he read, Lucille's words then reaching his own ears easier and louder.

He admired the way the words fell effortlessly from her lips as if they were her own and someone else's. It was as if she had written the poetic lines herself, all of them flowing naturally from the edge of her tongue like a plentiful waterfall powered by heavy rainfall. She continued to read absentmindedly, even when Tommy had stopped reading himself- she was in her own world again.

"You aren't reading, sorry." She said, with a blush. "I got carried away."

"It's fine. You have a nice reading voice." He complimented and Lucille blushed further as she closed the book suddenly with a slam and scooted away to her bag, tucking it away.

"I think that's enough for tonight." She said quietly before reaching for another cake, silencing herself with a large bite.