Emily: Army Mail Order Bride

by Mercy Levy

  “Lucy…How… How could you?” Stella whispered. Lucy saw the colour drain from her face as Malcolm caught up to them.

  “Stella.” Malcolm gasped. “I’ve been trying to find you for days!” Stella regarded him coolly and didn’t reply. “I have a letter for you, please just read it.” He asked, handing her a thin folded paper. Unable to find an appropriate scathing reply in front of her C.O. and her roommate, she accepted the paper from him and stepped away as she read.

  Malcolm watched as her face crumpled and tears spilled over her eyelids. She looked at Malcolm and sniffed, then waved the paper at him as she chewed on her lip.

  “Is this true?” She croaked, her throat tight with emotion. He nodded and she sagged against the wall and stared down at the page in her hands. Lucy looked from Malcolm to Stella in alarm, worried that she’d brought further pain to her friend by helping him find her.

  “When are you leaving?” Stella asked Malcolm without looking up at him.

  “Whenever you do, I suppose.” Malcolm replied. Stella nodded and thought, still leaning against the wall. Malcolm limped over to where she stood and whispered softly in her ear, making her start and laugh.

  “My rotation is done in three weeks.” She told him. “Then its home to Dalby for me. She looked again at the note, now tearstained, the ink just beginning to run,

  “My dearest Stella. How foolish of me not to realize that there could not be two such amazing women in the world at the same time, let alone in my minute part of it. Of course it is you that I want and you alone. It always was, and it always will be. Not another moment of my life could be spent living without the one person who walked through the war with me, and gave me my escape from the hell that war held me trapped in. Never have I been so grateful for a mistake I made, as I am upon learning that the woman I fell in love with, is also the woman I call my dearest friend.

  Yours, forever or as long as you wish it,

  Captain Malcolm G. Ross, Queen’s Airborne.”

  Stella finally looked up at the women and managed a half-hearted smile. She was exhausted and her heart felt like it had been squeezed flat through a ringer, then filled up again. It ached and floated at the same time. She bit her lip and looked at Malcolm from under her lashes.

  “I need to take a supper break, do you want to come to the café down the street with me and grab something to eat? It’s been a while since you were out on your own, and I hear you got your walking papers.” She offered timidly.

  “I’m happy to join you, Lt. Kingsfoot, wherever your plans take you this evening.” He replied, adjusting his crutches under his arms.

  “I’ll, um, I’ll tell the head nurse of the wing where you’ve gone.” Lucy chuckled and walked away, waving over her shoulder as Stella called out her thanks. Stella checked her watch and told her supervisor she’d return in an hour.

  “You’ll return Lucy to me, that’s what you’ll do.” The head nurse sniffed. “You’d be a great nurse, if we were working on livestock. Damnable farm girls, always think they’re surgery nurses.” She scoffed, though it lost a little effect when she winked at Stella before she strode back into the annex.

  Stella and Malcolm ate supper, both quiet and unsure of what to say. Stella walked him back to his ward in that same uncomfortable silence, and relayed the surgical nurse’s command to Lucy, who laughed and agreed she’d be back in surgery on the morrow. Stella left Malcolm at his bedside, and went to her room wondering what would become of them, now that the mystery of the letters was gone, and he was going home. She went to her room and looked at the stack of papers in laying on top of her little bedside table and had an idea.

  She jotted a quick note, which she sealed in a milky envelope and snuck down to Malcolm’s bedside, setting it on the seat of the chair next to his cot. She then returned to her bunk and proceeded to write a few more letters. When Malcolm awoke the next day, his eyes lit on the envelope on the chair. With his heart in his throat, he opened the envelope and read the note inside.

  “Kingsfoot farm, Dalby, Yorkshire, 5th of September. With all my heart, Love, Stella”

  Malcolm chuckled to himself and neatly folded the note to place it in his jacket pocket. September 5th was only a few short weeks away. Besides, he had a lot to do by then, if he was going to convince s pair of Yorkshire farmers to let him marry their daughter. Stella arrived at his side only minutes before his transport. He kissed her softly and promised her he’d see her soon.

  “Just think, how close we were to my missing you completely.” Stella marvelled as he leaned in to kiss her neck when they found a moment alone. He mumbled something incoherent into her soft skin and held her tighter. “I’ll miss you for certain tomorrow.” She added tearfully.

  Malcolm held her face in his hands and stroked her forehead lovingly. Without paper, he found himself nearly mute in her presence, just as he had been when he first arrived in London. Instead of words, he chose to hold her in his arms and kiss her on the top of her head.

  “I’ll write soon.” He murmured to her. She chuckled and nodded.

  “I’ll write back.” She replied.

  The transport pulled up to the curb and Malcolm climbed in while the driver loaded his bags in the back. He waved to her and watched her wave back until he couldn’t see her any longer. He looked at the train ticket for Leeds in his hand and smiled. Limping up to the ticket window, he made a quick change of destination that cost him a little of his pocket money and a few extra hours on the platform.

  One week later, as promised, Stella received a letter. Excited, she turned the envelope to see the return address. Dalby, Yorkshire, it read. Disappointed, but trying to be cheerful of news for home, she opened the thin letter. Her heart filled to bursting at the short handwritten missive.

  “Love of my heart, sweetest Stella,

  Dalby, Yorkshire, tiny apartment above the veterinary clinic.

  With all my Heart, Love Malcolm.”

  Stella smiled through her tears and took out a piece of paper. Slipping her pencil into her mouth, she chewed it as she thought. After a moment, she put pencil to paper.

  “Dearest Malcolm, heart of my heart…”

  THE END

  The Billionaire Jock

  Sweat poured into Billie’s eyes as he danced around the ring. One, two, his fists jabbed, testing his opponent for a weakness. He threw a left hook and connected hard. Lightning quick he followed up with a left-right combination to the stomach and then a hard right to the dazed man’s jaw. The mat shook under his feet as his challenger, Thackery Smith, went down hard for a K.O. victory.

  The crowd gathered in the gym stomped and crowed in glee. This was Billie’s twenty-fourth circuit victory, second by knock out, and his manager, J.J. Slade, was already counting the millions his young protégé was going to make him. Billie swayed on his feet as the referee held up his arm and announced the victory to the already screaming crowd.

  “Payne brings the pain!” The chants were heard echoed over and over by the crowd. “Bring the Payne, bring the noise!” Slade watched hungrily as money surreptitiously exchanged hands. He’d wait until the crowd was gone to collect his cut. Billie had made him an extra couple grand tonight on the side. In the last few weeks alone, Slade had made almost a ten times that off his side bets. Billie loved to fight, and he was going to be a champion. Slade planned on riding the money train all the way to the top.

  Billie Payne, middle-weight victor of tonight’s underground match, sagged against the ropes as his trainer gently guided him to a wooden stool and pried his mouth guard out. Payne was wasted from the fight, and could barely swallow the water he was given. He let the trainer wipe the blood and sweat off his face and watched the crowd, still going crazy for him, still chanting his name. He barely felt the pain from the bruises blossoming over his ribs and his swollen left eye. Every win got him higher, better than any drug he could’ve picked up on the street. He watched as the crowd seemed to split in two and head out the glass doors, the gro
up taking their winnings to the bar to blow them, the other following a short way behind, hoping to cash in on some free rounds from their friends.

  Payne grunted as cold water hit his eye again. Son of a bitch was starting to throb. He shook off his training staff and slowly stood up, feeling every inch of every muscle in his body scream in protest. He climbed down from the ring and headed towards the showers.

  She was standing so quietly in the shadows he almost missed her. Almond-shaped brown eyes watched him from a thin, almost elven face. Her full lips were parted in a smile as he noticed her. She wasn’t dressed like most of the gym-bunnies that usually waited for him after fights. Her black hair was pulled back in a tight braid, leaving only a few escaped tendrils to prove her hair was naturally curly. Her suit was well-tailored, but not tight, and her jewelry was conservative, classy, rather than loud.

  Billie veered from the doorway to the locker room like a drunk and loped toward the shadowy corner where she stood.

  “I know you, don’t I?” Billie made the question sound like a statement. His blood began to heat at the slow, sweet smile she gave him in response. He looked her over from curly blue-black hair to her high-end, yet sensible, heels. “How could I not remember a woman like you?” He muttered. She chuckled and he dropped his eyes, embarrassed. For a guy who women loved to chase, he wasn’t feeling very smooth all of the sudden.

  “Billie, it’s me, Joy.” The pretty woman murmured softly. “Joy Driscol. From the neighborhood?” It was her voice that brought back memories of school days and long walks and imaginary plans for their futures. That soft, lilting sound that made him forget for a moment that he was fighter now, and made him feel like the 14-year-old that sat on her bed and listened to classic rhythm and blues music and argued about who was the better artist, Billie Holliday or Aretha Franklin.

  “Wow.” Billie finally squeezed the word past the lump in his throat. “Joy Driscol, you’re all grown up.” He held out a hand to her and she slid past it to wrap her arms around him in a hug, laughing. “Oh honey, I’m going to get some guy’s blood on your nice clothes.” He teased as he gingerly backed away from her. “Let me shower, and then I’ll hug you proper.” She blushed prettily and let him hold her hand instead.

  “You know,” she remarked, “you’ve grown up too.” She looked up into his swollen and bruised face. He was a good six inches taller than he’d been when they were neighbors. His shoulders had broadened, due as much to weight-lifting and training as to puberty and adulthood. Even all banged up, his rugged features were the fulfillment of teenage promise, and Joy felt her chest get tight at the memory of how much she had wanted him to really see her, once upon a time.

  “Naw. Guys like me don’t grow up, we just get bigger and then get old.” Billie chuckled. He shook his head and swung her arm out, as if to get a better look at her. He almost told her the truth, that lately, he felt more like an insecure kid than he had in high school. He squeezed her hand and winked. “I really need that shower, but I don’t want you to go.” He added in a husky voice that suggested dark and sinful things to come.

  “I’m not going anywhere.” Joy replied. She grimaced and shrugged her shoulders. “I’m actually here to ask a favor of you.” She blushed again. “I’ve actually come to see you fight before, but this is the first time I’ve stayed.” She pulled her hand out of his and stepped back a couple of paces. “You go shower. I’m going to get off my feet for a few minutes.” She slowly backed away toward the metal folding chairs that encircled the boxing ring, without taking her eyes off of Billie. He waved and turned back towards his waiting training staff and the promise of a hot shower and a cortisone shot.

  “Give me fifteen minutes.” Payne called over his shoulder as he disappeared from sight. Joy took the opportunity to close her eyes and slow her racing pulse in the weakly half-light of the now-closed gym. It had been more of a shock to speak to him again than she had thought it would be. Three fights she had come to, and finally tonight had worked up the courage to stay behind. It was certainly easier to do when there weren’t other girls waiting around for him.

  Joy pondered the chasm of time and experiences that lay between the boys Billie had been, and the man he was now. Never would her 13-year-old self, have imagined that the quiet, scholarly artist she knew would become a man of self-promotion and violence. But, in her humble opinion as the daughter of a former heavyweight champion, he was nothing if not an amazing fighter.

  She’d seen such drive and determination in his eyes as he fought. It was admirable to her that while he was ruthless and unrelenting in the ring, he never had the look of wild rage that she’d seen before in so many fighters. He was detached from his emotions as he fought. Clinical and deliberate in his actions, never wasting an ounce of energy. She smiled to herself. Her dad would’ve been proud of the fighter Billie had become. Joy was sad that he would never have the chance to see it.

  It was so quiet in the gym that Joy nearly dozed off waiting for Billie to return. After approximately double the amount of time he said he’d be gone, Billie came and found her sitting quietly with her eyes closed and her head resting on the edge of the ring as she sat on one folding chair, her feet propped up on another. She felt him get close to her and opened her eyes slowly, watching him from under her long mascaraed eyelashes. His wounds were treated and dressed and the bruising in his face had already bloomed to a deep blue and purple. He was probably the most handsome man she’d ever seen.

  “Hey,” He whispered to her, gently brushing her bare arm with warm, calloused fingers. “If you’re still awake, I’d like to buy you dinner, or at least a coffee.” He offered. She opened her eyes all the way and her slow, easy smile lit up her face.

  “If you don’t mind listening to a proposal, I’m happy to let you feed and caffeinate me.” She held out a hand and let Billie aid her to her feet. “My dad used to fight here.” She murmured as he held open the door to the street. He nodded. He remembered her father, how big he had been. He had seemed impossibly tall and broader than most men across the shoulders, and to Billie’s child-self, he’d been huge and imposing. A lifetime ago, there was nowhere that Billie had felt safe, except in Joy Driscoll’s home away from hands that struck him down simply for existing. These days, Billie made himself safe.

  2.

  Joy looked across the coffee-stained and food-smudged table at Billie. He lounged in the booth like a well-fed cat, legs stretched out under the table, hands clasped behind his head. He wore a Cheshire grin and sighed in contentment.

  “Do you think you could ever be too good for this place?” He mumbled around the toothpick carelessly perched between his teeth. She picked at the chipped laminate of the table top and looked around the room. The waitress wandered between tables, warming up coffee cups along the way. The skirt of her faded yellow uniform swished around her legs as she wove her way through the restaurant. She headed toward their table and Joy knocked back the last of her coffee like it was a shot of whiskey, answering the friendly smile of the middle-aged woman with one of her own.

  “Top you off, Sugar?” The waitress asked, as Joy scooted her empty cup closer to her.

  “Fill ‘er up.” Joy bubbled, her brain already swimming in caffeine from the three previous cups. She turned to Billie and grinned. “To answer your question, with a question,” she posited, “Is anyone ever really too good for Denny’s?” She grinned and sighed happily as she doctored her coffee, adding a dollop of cream and a truckload of sugar before proclaiming it perfect. She glanced across the table again. Billie still watched her, one eyebrow raised, his toothpick bouncing as he rolled it between his teeth.

  “What’s up, Short stuff?” He asked. He was stunned by the amount of caffeine she’d consumed in the past hour. No wonder she was so tiny. She drank all her meals and then worked off the calories through “caffeine shakes”. He looked at the forlorn piece of apple pie she had finally pushed aside, untouched, after staring at it for twenty minutes, downing cup after
cup of coffee.

  “I told you I had a proposal for you.” Joy began, setting the cup down and tracing the top of the cup with her finger. Billie sat forward and nodded. “Well, we’ve been catching up all night.” Joy continued. “I told you that I’m a school counselor. What I didn’t mention is that I showed up at your fight tonight to ask a favor for the kids I’m responsible for.” Joy shrugged her shoulders. “I was hoping, because you are becoming something of a celebrity…” Her voice petered off as Billie nodded again and took the toothpick out of his mouth.

  “You want money for your school?” He offered, pointing at her with the little chewed up piece of wood.

  “No!” she gasped. “I just wanted you to come talk to them about staying in school!” She looked at him in askance. “So, I’m guessing you have a lot of people asking you for money, and I’m not going to take it personally that you thought I was another scrub.” Joy shook her head. “You thought I was asking you for money, and you took me out to a midnight breakfast and let me talk you ear off for…” She glanced at her watch, “two hours?”

  Billie reached across the table and held one of her hands between his. He looked into her eyes and exulted at the blush that rose into her cheeks at his perusal. Joy saw his thoughts slide past his eyes and her blush deepened at the heat that began to build low in her belly at his utterly male, carnal stare. She felt her chest hitch and realized she’d been holding her breath.

  “For that look,” Billie finally mused, “It was worth a thousand midnight breakfasts, if that’s what you wanted.” He rubbed his finger across her knuckles, sending sparks up her hand and shivers down her spine. “But, since you just want me to be a hero…” He chuckled, a deeply masculine sound that did nothing to help her regain her equilibrium.

  “You were such a good student.” Joy uttered breathlessly. “I just wanted for my kids to see that they could be like you, strong, successful, and educated.” He dropped his eyes and stopped playing with her hands. Joy stopped speaking. Unhappiness radiated from his body. He finally raised his eyes to look her in the face, his shoulders slumped, hands clasped in his lap.