632Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡF2GojW5BML
The Eagle's Nest, Germany632Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡR7ah3P6FMU
VE Day, May 1945
Ted took a deep swig from the bottle. He laid his hand on the fine, mahogany desk in Adolf's front parlor. The rich wooden surface was dulled by a light layer of dust.
Glancing down at the blank sheet of stationary he had found in one of the drawers, he drank again. He couldn't remember the last time he had tasted champagne, much less gotten drunk off of it. Halfway through the bottle, his senses were humming. Even without the alcohol, he would have felt woozy.
The complete surrender of the German army. It didn't seem possible.
Events had been winding down in their part of the world for some time, but the end of the war in Europe had come as a shock. He had made it to the end, just as he never thought he would.
He shifted, his hand going deep into his pocket as it had many times in the past months. The smudged, jagged corner of paper that he had hung onto like a touch stone was soft from age. It was a miracle the words written on it were legible.
However he didn't take it out, write the address down on the rich, cream-laid envelope and tuck it back into his jacket to post in Berchtesgaden. Nor did he put pen to paper and write to tell her…
What exactly would he tell her?
He took another, longer drink when he was stabbed with the sudden impulse to hunt down David and ask his opinion. Months later and the abrupt viciousness of his best friend's death had yet to sink into his psyche.
What right did he have to seek something that made him happy? He couldn't understand why he was still standing on two feet while countless others were far from that fortunate. 632Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡV97ehXQ1gQ
He slapped the bottle down on the table and paced towards the window. The voices of the men out on the balcony and exploring the rooms upstairs were as distant as the far off roofs of Berchtesgaden below.
Ted had done his best not to think about the time they had spent together in Haguenau. It would probably have just jinxed their chances of survival. He'd certainly never spoken of it to any of the other men, even the ones who had met Catie in England.
Dwelling on that night, the sound of the fire burning in the hearth as she had run her thin fingers through his hair, it had been as painful to recall as when their medic had handed him the bloodied remains of David's pipe. He had felt as though he had been stealing something, a glimmer of peace that wasn't truly yet their own.
Catie Doyle.
In all honesty, he barely knew her. However, the moment he had happened upon her in those city ruins, his need for her had been intense and unforeseen as friendly fire.
He remembered how she had carefully turned to face him on that door step, her wide blue eyes alarming in their gravity. Her thin mouth and chin firmly set as he had risen to meet her. Then she had pulled away from him, only a smidge but enough for him to notice.
That was always how she appeared when he dreamed of her, falling away and dissolving like mist. During the war, it had made him need her even more, that delicious elusiveness of her presence. It had made the kiss they had shared even more intoxicating.
His thoughts came to a shuddering halt as he finished off the bottle in a single swallow. There was no way he could venture on that memory of their night in Haguenau. It was too treacherous, making him think that she was his when that was far from the truth.
"McNeil!" Alfie Butcher trotted into the parlor, a bottle in his hand, "Come on, Kelly said there is a horde of liquor at one of houses in town."
"Sounds good to me," Ted muttered, glancing back at the lonely piece of paper on the table.
He couldn't shake the nagging thought that there was a chance she never could be his, that their meeting wasn't fate but rather a jarring coincidence brought on by war. He didn't believe in chance but after months of senseless deaths, he was left with doubts.
He dropped the bottle into a waste basket and followed Alfie out the door.
Paris, France632Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡZBuPGdsNZb
August 1945632Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡvtYfcmZbzV
632Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡvvTP4Oyy95
Cate tucked her bare feet under her nightgown where she sat on the window seat, wrapping her arms around her knees. Mira was half asleep in the twin bed nearby, her breathing slowly evening out. In the alley below, a couple embraced beneath the mustard glow of a streetlamp.
The young woman wrapped her birdlike arms around the soldier's neck. She could almost feel his hands on her own body as the man ran them down the sides of the girl's lean torso.
Cate shut her eyes as the memory rushed into her consciousness. He had smelled of smoke and the heady remnants of the musk she had given him. In his worn overcoat, his hair a stark brick red against the grey as he grew smaller till disappearing into the morning mist. It was as though he had never been there at all.
She wondered if she had dreamed up those last few days in Haguenau to cope with the loss of James. Last she had heard from her mother, Owen had returned home and was learning to live without his leg.
Owen had sent her the letter. He had penned that learning to go on without a limb was easier than losing their brother. She had felt that went without saying.
She wondered if the letter with the news of James's death was still on that mantel piece in Haguenau. She had swept up Ted’s curls and deposited them in the same waste bin as her own braid. As she had closed the door to that room, she had felt that she had closed the door to them, whatever it had been. He had surprised her by the supply truck.
Captured in his eyes and unable to fly from the danger of seemingly inevitable loss, she had held his hands as long as she could. She had taken the chance.
Back in May she had written to her mother and asked if there had been any mail for her. Her mother's response had been cheerfully ignorant, saying that of course not since everyone knew she was in Europe.
Victory in Japan and still no post from him.
Cate took in a ragged breath and heaved herself from the window seat, pacing towards the small writing desk. A sheet of paper was laying there, with one line and no address. Cate guessed that by this point there would never be an address for it.
Ted,632Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡy66BXmrbKd
I am at a loss in how to tell you this but I am unsure
She had carried it on her person since the day Alice had bounded into the hospital with news of the surrender. Now it was August and it had been five days since Japan had surrendered. She was still without the words. She didn't even know how to finish that one sentence.
"This is a strange change of circumstance." Mira mumbled, sitting up in bed and rubbing a hand over her eyes, "When have I ever gone to bed before you?"
Cate pushed the paper back into the desk, "Never, I think."
She paced back towards the window. The couple that had been so amorous below had disappeared into the night. She lightly held the lace curtain and glanced over at Mira. The young woman was sitting up in bed, studying her friend. She stood out of the mess of sheets and joined her at the sill.
"Still no word from the gentleman caller of Haguenau?" Mira asked, crossing her arms.
Cate shook her head and attempted a weak smile, "Nothing."
"Nothing." Mira repeated, sitting down on the window seat, "You know, that doesn't necessarily mean that he's-"
"I know it doesn't automatically mean he's dead," Cate interrupted with a mirthless chortle, the last word thudding into her chest like a bullet, "But I don't know which option is worse. That he can't write me. Or won't."
"Well honey, you barely knew the guy. You said it yourself."
"I know, I know."
Mira reached out and grasped her hand, "Catie. When I met you, you were the most sensible, innocent girl I had ever met in my entire life. I seriously don't know how they do it where you grew up."
"Greensborough, New Hampshire."
"Yes, wherever that is," Mira smirked though her dark eyes remained sober, "Us lucky ones, the survivors. We may be alive but so far from who we once were, it's almost impossible to marry those two halves."
"Is that why you and Anthony decided to leave your relationship open ended during the war? Why you were comfortable dating those other men?" Cate looked pointedly over at her friend.
Mira nodded, "We knew we wanted to get married before he left for Africa but there was always the chance one or both of us wouldn't return. And the even less desirable consequence that we wouldn't know the person we were looking at when all had been said and done."
"So how is it that you are marrying him next week?"
A rare blush rose into Mira's square face, "Simply because though we have both changed, our hearts have not. Despite the storm and changes in the coastline, the love remained." Mira reached out and laid her other hand on Cate's shoulder, "I am telling you this because I love you. Perhaps, the both of you woke up from the war and found that the thing you shared had been washed away."
Cate gave a soggy snort, brushing away a tear, "What would I have done without you these past couple years?"
"Probably been bored to death. War can be so tedious."
Cate rolled her eyes towards the wardrobe they shared. Even in the dark, the antique wedding dress they had managed to get their hands on shone like moonlight on snow.
"So are you ready for Friday?"
"I think I was always ready. Fate just wasn’t yet," Mira answered standing and facing the wedding dress. She peeked over at Cate with an arched eyebrow, "Get my meaning?"
ns 15.158.61.39da2
