Monsters and Men: Love Through The Ages, #2

By E.M. Lindsey

"Sometimes the war created monsters out of men, and sometimes men from the monsters. Sometimes that line between the two was blurry and difficult to tell which was which, but no matter how it turned out, there was always hope."

August Owens was born as the world recovered from the First World War.

Labeled strange and inclined to the immoral, he suffers at the hands of vicious prejudice against the men who raised his father.

By four he learned the meaning of the word abomination, and by ten he knew because of his differences, he would never have unconditional love from his mother.

When things come crumbling down, August is whisked across the United States by his father, Noah, to live with his grandfathers where he can truly feel at home. But that peace and love comes with a price.

Heavy loss and injury plagues his young teenage life, and he's forced to navigate the world with a violent scar across his face, and never-ending looks of pity.

Then comes the Second World War, and everything changes. Half-blind and left for dead on the shores of Omaha Beach, August is taken in by Frenchman with a past full of shadows. As he's nursed back to health, August learns to accept that he deserves to be seen for who he is, and not for the scars he bears.

• Language: English
• Publisher: E.M. Lindsey
• Release date: Oct 6, 2022
• ISBN: 9798215354872

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

He’d been the surprise baby.  The miracle baby, his father told a man once when he and August were out shopping for a golden necklace to give to the young boy’s mother.  Never thought she’d be able to have another, and here he is.  They spoke about him the way people spoke about a rainbow after a storm, or when a seaside cottage made it through a violent squall unscathed.  No one expected him, yet here he was. 

August was the fourth child, born in mid-December, 1925, to Noah and Mabel Owens.  Nine years after their first boy, James, and four years after their last girl, Emily.  There was one girl in between, Rebecca, and that completed them.  The six Owens lived in a large home once belonging to Noah’s grandmother and was left willed to him when she died three days after Noah and Mabel’s wedding. 

August recalled overhearing stories about how much Noah’s father hated her.  How his granddad was afraid that house would bring nothing but discourse and misery for their new family.  But Noah didn’t turn it down.  He had a sizable inheritance from the family, but he used it to open their small restaurant in the heart of the city.  Times had been tough after the war, the country amidst a depression, but their family weathered it. 

August knew from listening to stories that his father had once wanted to play baseball, but an injury at school set him back.  Then he was sent to the war and came back afraid, tired, and missing one limb.  He was luckier than most vets, he’d tell people who offered him sympathy over his awkward prosthetic.  Some lost everything. 

Even as a young boy, sometimes August would stare at his dad when his prosthetic leg was off.  Missing a piece of himself always frightened August.  Will it happen to me, dad? 

Noah smiled at his young son, ruffling his curls.  There’s no way to tell.  But I get by, and so would you. 

And it was true, Noah did get by. 

He ran the little bistro, cooking food in the French style that he learned as a boy.  Everyone loved it, and while August didn’t totally understand the strange whispers that came about when Noah would bring up his parents, he didn’t really care.  His dad was a good man, loved all his kids, loved his parents.  And they were happy. 

August wasn’t a typical child though.  Being as young as he was, he was often overlooked.  The person he was becoming was unexpected, much like his birth.  He came into the world during the heart of prohibition and just as the country was rebuilding itself after the war.  The world was on edge, but the four-year-old didn’t understand that as he was running through the sands of the shore near their house. 

Queer boy, a lot of the townsfolk said, and he was a bit.  He stared a lot.  Took everything in.  Even at such a young age he could be found with a small ledger and bit of charcoal, scribbling images that flitted across his vision.  A few times he heard his mother whispering the words, "Inverts, like your fathers," and his dad would get angry after that.  Not because of what his fathers were, whatever an invert was, but because she would worry that August was one.  Or, as August realized as he grew older, angry that his mother would care. 

August didn’t know about that, though.  Couldn’t.  He’d never met the men who had raised his father.  They lived on the West Coast, as far away from Maryland as you could get before turning around and coming back again. 

They had a few pictures around the house though.  Mostly kept in Noah’s study.  Candid portraits of two men wearing smart suits with combed hair.  They looked younger than August imagined grandparents should look.  Maybe a bit of wrinkle near the eyes and mouth, but they weren’t like his mother’s dad.  Grandpa Hugh was rotund and jolly, all grey and wrinkled.  Not that August minded.  Grandpa Hugh always had a nickel for the kids, and often a sweet or two tucked away in his pockets. 

But though August never met the two men on the West Coast, it didn’t stop him from knowing them.  Noah talked about them all the time, telling stories of growing up in the Paris of the West.  Stories of his papa’s travels on the seas, stories of his dad’s education abroad. 

He knew his granddad Will was a lawyer.  He’d lived in England for some time, came home and was married, and that’s how Noah was born.  And then his granddad fell in love with August’s Pépère Teddy.  And there was this way about Noah when he talked about the men who raised him.  A sort of glint in his eye and a secret smile reserved for that bit of his life which wasn’t around anymore, and August often found himself wistful that he couldn’t see more of that side of his dad. 

Do you wish you could go there? August would ask his dad from time to time.  Don’t you miss them? 

In the kitchen, Noah would ruffle the boy’s hair before passing him a bowl of iced fruit drizzled with honey.  I do miss them.  Someday, August, I swear I’ll take you to meet them. 

But sometimes his dad would bring it up to his mother, and the look on her face was drawn and dark.  Sometimes when August was behaving untoward, she would look at him like that, too.  As though he were some creature she didn’t recognize and couldn’t stomach. 

We absolutely cannot make that trip.  It’s too far.  We don’t have the funds.  And it would put too much stress on the children. 

Noah’s face fell and he shook his head.  It’s always something, Mabel.  I miss them. 

I know you do.  Her voice softened just a fraction.  But my parents have been just as good to you, haven’t they?  If you want to go, you can go on your own.  But I don’t want the children seeing such an abomination.  Especially August.  I can’t…I can’t stomach it. 

That always put an end to the argument.

CHAPTER 2

August was five when the idea and stories of his grandfathers became a reality.  James and his sisters were off at school, and he snuck into his dad’s study when he saw a large parcel arrive.  His dad was behind the desk with a grin on his face.  His eyes were closed and he had a thick sheet of paper in front of him.  His fingers were moving along lines, and August peered closer for a better look. 

It’s called braille, his dad said when he saw the curious look on his son’s face.  Come here, you can touch it. 

The boy jumped up on his father’s knee and his hands splayed out.  It was like the paper was covered in tiny pocks, in different patterns across lines where words should be.  What is it? 

My pops, you know the one there, his dad paused to point at the picture where a man in dark tinted glasses was standing beside a tall chair, he can’t see.  He’s blind.  Do you know what that is? 

Um.  No.  August shook his head and a strand of hair fell over his forehead. 

Noah brushed it back, then took his hands and cupped them over August’s eyes.  When he opens his eyes, this is what he sees. 

Dark? 

Dark, Noah confirmed.  So, to read, he does it with his fingers.  He took August’s hands, holding the tips of both his first fingers, and began to drag them over the first line. 

Closing his eyes, August tried to imagine how those were words.  He was a precocious child, but still only a young one, so it didn’t quite make sense.  But as he dragged his fingers back and forth, and back and forth again, he started to discern a pattern to them. 

My pops taught me this when I was your age.  Now sometimes he sends me letters like this, and I can send him letters back.  Noah lifted the boy and set him back onto the ground.  And I’ve good news.  You’ll get to meet them.  They’re in France right now and their return ship is docking here at our port.  His hand went back to the paper, dragging across several lines.  They’ve got a hotel secured and they’ll be staying for a while. 

August’s eyes went wide.  The taboo surrounding his grandfathers had always made them more exciting than the one he had here.  Curiosity had plagued him since he could really remember, and he felt a zing in his belly.  When will they be here?  Can we go now?  Are they here?  Maybe tomorrow? 

Noah laughed, ruffling his son’s hair.  No son, not for six months.  But I reckon that time will go by fast now that we know, eh? 

August leaned over his dad’s desk again to see the photograph.  He watched with curiosity as his dad read the pages with his fingers, and wondered what knowing them would be like.  Would they like him?  Would they think him queer just like everyone else?  And if they did, would they think it was such a bad thing? 

Two nights later, James found his brother in the parlor with one of his dad’s braille books.  His eyes were squeezed shut and his fingers were moving along the page as he tried to work out what each of the braille cells meant. 

What are you doing? the eldest Owens boy asked. 

Reading like Pépère.  I’m blind now.  He kept his eyes shut, his fingers going back and forth, back and forth across the lines. 

James peered over the edge of the sofa, then snatched the book from August’s hands.  He squinted at it, then tucked it under his arm.  Ah, knock if off!  You ain’t blind, and dad’s gonna tan your hide if he catches you with this.  It was well known most of the books in his dad’s study were off limits.  August had been chased out of there more times than not, but it never deterred him. 

Jumping up on the sofa, August stretched out his small arms, trying to grab the book away from his brother.  Give me that!  Dad said I could.  He said I could learn it! 

James grinned, stepping back.  Nah.  I think I’ll keep it.  He shoved his hand on August’s forehead and made the boy squeal until his mother came down. 

What in the world? she demanded, her hands on her hips.  Her glare softened a moment and she turned to the oldest boy.  James, why are you torturing your brother? 

"He’s acting queer again.  Trying to read this bumpy stuff.  He stole it from dad’s office."  James shoved the book at his mother who took it, and her gaze went hard again. 

You’re not supposed to touch your dad’s things, August. 

The little boy crossed his arms, knees leaning against the back of the couch.  Dad said I could!  He said I could learn it like Pépère! 

August had never seen the look his mother was wearing now, and she took a step back.  "You’re not blind, you don’t need this, you understand me?  You don’t need to learn this.  Her voice was high and almost scared, and it sent August backward a pace.  As he plopped down on the seat, his mother’s gaze softened and she took a step forward, ruffling his hair.  Honey, it’s just another stress you don’t need, and you need to be working on your regular letters.  Okay?  I’m going to put this back in dad’s office and you keep out of there." 

August watched with sad eyes as his mother took the book and went up the stairs.  Flopping his head back, he looked up at his brother who seemed just as confused as the small boy.  Why’s she lookin’ scared?  She doesn’t like Pépère? 

Don’t think she knows him much, or cares to.  I wouldn’t worry about it.  She’s just bein’ mom.  James shrugged, but there was a tone to his voice that told August his brother wasn’t being completely honest with him.  I don’t think you need’ta worry about it anyway, kid.  Not like they’re ever coming here.  He turned on his heel and walked out of the room, whistling a little tune. 

August would have been put out about it too, if the precocious five-year-old hadn’t realized something then.  He now had a secret.  Something only he and his dad knew.  His grandparents were coming to visit, and his dad hadn’t told a soul but him.

CHAPTER 3

Three days later, August was bored and sneaking into his dad’s office yet again.  The braille book was back up on the shelf with the handful of others he kept, and he knew he wasn’t supposed to touch it.  But he also knew that if he could learn those bumps, he could have his own secret language.  He could write to his Pépère too, and his Pépère could write back.  And his mom wouldn’t ever know what he said. 

He stood on tiptoe, staring at the pictures of the two men who raised his dad, and he wondered about them.  They were in France now, so were they adventurers?  The way people talked about them was the same way they talked about people who didn’t follow the rules.  Like bandits or pirates.  Throwing caution to the wind, being rebels in their own right. 

August felt that in his very bones.  It was the same way they talked about him when they caught him drawing instead of playing chase or ball with the other boys outside.  Queer.  He’d heard the word so much and he reckoned it meant that he was different than anyone else. 

He knew his brother didn’t like him much for it.  And his mom was afraid.  But there was a funny look in his dad’s eye every time someone said it around him, and it made August think maybe his dad found him more interesting because of it.  I mean wasn’t his dad queer too?  With his wooden leg and all, making him different from the other men?  Bit queer and unusual. 

Before he realized it, August had reached up and plucked the book from the shelf once again.  He had it tucked under his arm and he was racing for the door before he could stop himself.  His mother was having tea with her sister, so he took to the streets, making the short run down to the restaurant where his father was working. 

The place was pretty empty at the moment, and one of the cooks in the back called to him as he dashed down the hall for his father’s office. 

Hey kid!  Come here when you’re done and I’ll cut you some fruit! 

August skidded to a halt and winked at him.  Thanks Chuck.  His feet stomped against the wooden floor and he burst into his dad’s small office, finding him bent over the books. 

Noah looked over, his eyes wide, then he grinned.  What in the world are you doing here?  Aren’t you supposed to be at home with mom? 

"Yeah but she’s having tea with auntie.  Again.  He shifted from one foot to the other, then took the book from under his arm.  I took this from your office.  I’m sorry." 

Noah eyed it, taking it with careful hands, then set it on the edge of the desk.  Mom send you here about that? 

August shook his head.  "No.  She scolded me the other night when she caught me with it.  Said I wasn’t allowed to read it cuz I’m not blind.  But you’re not, and you read it." 

Noah nodded, touching the edge of the book with his fingers.  That’s true, I do read it.  And you don’t need to be blind to know braille.  His dad paused.  Why’s it so important to you, son? 

I want to write Pépère.  And maybe he can write to me.  And mom won’t know what I say so she won’t get upset about it.  Don’t you think Pépère might like it if I do? 

Noah’s face softened.  Yeah.  Yeah, I think he’d like it quite a bit, actually. 

So, can I?  Can you teach me? 

You really want to read this? 

August nodded, his face solemn.  "I want to.  And I promise to study this and my regular letters too.  I’ll be really good, and I’ll practice every night.  But dad…  He stopped and closed the door so no one might overhear.  How come mom and James don’t know that they’re coming to visit?  Your dads?" 

Noah’s face twitched, then fell for just a second.  He beckoned August to the unoccupied chair and leaned over his knees to meet his son’s eye level.  Sometimes, son, people do things in life that other people don’t agree with. 

Like if you go to a restaurant mom doesn’t like? 

Noah laughed.  Something like that.  But sometimes it’s bigger.  Sometimes people fall in love with other people and…  He trailed off and it was clear he wasn’t sure how to explain it to the boy. 

Are you saying that um… that your dads um… they love each other?  Like you and mom? 

Noah nodded, swallowing hard.  They do.  And they love me just as much as I love you. 

But other people don’t like it?  Like mom doesn’t? 

Noah shook his head.  Other people don’t like it.  They have to keep it a secret because there are a lot of people who don’t understand it. 

Are the people scared? 

"Sometimes.