by Jina Bacarr
We hear the chatter around us, the family doing what folks do on Christmas Day. Opening presents, grabbing cookies and coffee, calling friends on the phone, thanking God for this blessed day and stealing kisses under the mistletoe.
Lucy smothers her husband with hugs and kisses under its tiny white flowers and green leaves. Next, Frankie and his girl, Anne. Lucy was right. She’s real nice, a social worker he met when he was hard up last Christmas. He found himself down to his last dollar and standing in line in downtown LA at the mission for a turkey dinner with mashed potatoes. Frankie loves Ma’s mashed spuds and started talking to the pretty girl serving them up about how his ma added garlic and onions. Anne was a volunteer intrigued by the handsome young man who never said a word until he tasted those potatoes. Then he talked and talked and she listened. I won’t be surprised if they head up to the city after the holiday to tie the knot.
Mildred and the reverend are also here with us – they’re like family – and take their turn under the mistletoe when they think no one is looking. Such a deep love between two people I’ve never seen. I’m sure God is proud of His pastor and the good work he does here in Posey Creek. Earlier, at the church services this Sunday, the reverend spoke of how we can never give up, how faith is like so many of God’s creatures who return each year to a certain place to nest, never failing to find their way. Sometimes a violent storm sends them off track – he looked directly at the two of us keeping a low profile in the last row, Jeff holding my hand tight – but when the storm clears, all is well.
As for Jeff and me, we haven’t tried out that mistletoe yet. We’re of the same mind, once we get started, we won’t stop.
‘Kate’s quite a girl, isn’t she, sir?’ Frankie joins us on the couch while Anne volunteers to help Lucy in the kitchen mashing the potatoes. She wants to get Ma’s recipe so she can keep her man content. A perfect couple, and I’m so happy for my brother.
‘Your sister is the best, and please call me Jeff,’ he says, holding me tight. I can’t get enough of him and I can see he revels in the comfort and coziness of finding a family again.
‘Enough, you two,’ I break in, embarrassed by the attention. ‘Or I’ll hang up my Miss Christmas Wrap poster,’ I tease Jeff, grabbing the rolled up poster from under the tree. Lucy’s brood, Billie and the twins, opened their presents after church, but we have a few left for the adults. ‘It’ll jog your memory.’
‘Where’d you find it?’ Jeff asks, curious.
‘You have me to thank for that,’ Mildred chimes in, laughing. ‘I came across it in the church basement and thought it was a fun welcome home present for Kate.’
‘Did I really look like that?’ I say, wondering Who is that girl with the not-so-innocent smile? Only I see the depth of that smile and the secret she’s hiding. I was so sure I could bend time to my will. I like to think I taught the forces that brought me there a thing or two, though I’ll not try it again. I’ve got my man and, like Ma’s thick turkey gravy for Christmas dinner, it makes everything perfect.
‘As my Marines in the Pacific would say, she’s what they were fighting for,’ says the reverend with a lump in his throat. ‘The girl next door.’
‘My girl next door.’ Jeff pulls me up on my feet and guides me over to the mistletoe with a quick whisper in my ear that he’s waited years to have me in his arms at Christmas and kiss me. It’s going to be a good one. My feet can’t get there fast enough. The twins giggle when he takes me in his arms and his lips brush mine. I let go with an embarrassed sigh. I soon forget I have a parlor filled with family when he kisses me with a hunger that matches my own.
It’s a kiss I’ll never forget. Filled with tenderness, but also the mature kiss of a man who wants to devour me. Claim me as his own after losing me in the most horrible way possible, during a war when so many men gave their lives and never saw their sweethearts again. The desire to give him back what he lost thrums in my blood like a wildfire I can’t put out, nor do I want to. We’ve been starved of love for so long, not only the physical need that burns beneath the skin, but the emotional depth that fills the heart with hope and delight, we keep kissing until we’re out of breath. Then he holds me close to him, my cheek rubbing against his chest. It feels so right, I let a tear fall.
‘I knew in my heart I’d never love anyone but that girl in the drawing,’ he says, fisting my hair with his hand. ‘I never thought I’d find her again.’
‘You have now,’ I say in a husky whisper, letting go of all those lonely years, wanting him so bad I woke up at night drenched in sweat, exhausted from looking for him in my dreams.
‘I’m so glad you never stopped loving me.’
‘Never.’
He kisses me again and I’m lost in the moment, so lost I don’t realize everyone has scattered and we’re alone in the parlor until—
‘Soup’s on!’ Lucy yells from the dining room, then pokes her head through the doorway, her eyes shining. ‘Time to eat, you two lovebirds.’
‘We’ll continue this later.’ Jeff breaks the kiss, but he doesn’t let me go. I nod, loving that he keeps my body pressed closely to his, but neither of us can resist the heavenly smells of creamy corn and roasted turkey along with homemade buttery biscuits.
We hustle into the dining room and my heart swells, remembering the grand times I had here. Ma and her lady friends planning the war. Pop and I playing checkers. Making the bet with Lucy about me getting married by Christmas. Helping Frankie get through his teenage years. Most of all, scooping cherry jam into glass jars when I was a young girl and dreaming of the boy who slid down the bannister and told me some day he’d marry me.
All these thoughts cascade through my mind in a lovely rainbow of memories as I sit down with the man who will be my husband as soon as we can arrange it. Mildred offered to help me with the church wedding preparations and the reverend will marry us. We intend to keep it private and then announce to the press Jeff has returned. How much of his story we can reveal will come later when he contacts the War Department. I can imagine the clerk in the archives section trying to dig up his Army records, especially when he was declared ‘died in enemy hands’ after his initial identity was compromised. Only the higher ups ever knew he assumed the persona of a lost partisan to continue his work during the war. The Army will issue an official statement and we’ll stick with that.
I put that out of my mind for now. Time to enjoy the bounty of our holiday dinner. I’m honored when the reverend says grace for us, his words so special and perfect.
‘We thank you, Lord, for bringing our boys home in both mind and spirit,’ he says, ‘through a terrible war hard fought by everyone, both on the battlefield and here on the home front.’
We bow our heads as he finishes the prayer and I hold hands with Jeff under the table, then Lucy grabs my other hand. Nothing could be better except if Ma and Pop were here. I fight back the tears. The gods of time must be in a benevolent mood this holiday because I swear I hear Pop whispering something in Ma’s ear followed by her sweet laughter.
Then they’re gone.
I revel in the fun of having a bunch of happy females bustling about in Ma’s kitchen. My love for Lucy deepens, not only because she’s the best sister ever, but because she never gave up on me. Never stopped believing I could regain my Christmas spirit. I look forward to spending a lot of time here, helping her out with the house and the kids, making sure she doesn’t overdo things. And when the time is right, we’ll have a long talk about nylons and trains.
The funny thing is, I have to ask her for a few pointers on keeping house. On keeping a husband happy? I’ve got that down pat. Advice from Ma.
Always give him the biggest piece of apple pie.
And never stop telling him how much you love him.
The next morning, Jeff and I drive over to the house on the river. We want to be alone, talk about the future and the past. He has gaps in his mind to fill in that will take months, but I cherish every moment I spend with him.
Some folks will say I dreamed my trip to the past and the rest is a matter of happy coincidences. Jeff keeping the drawing of me during the war, his instincts alerting him to the traitor. Then he became curious about the old house where he spent his youth, made inquiries, and discovered its fate was in his hands. So he made the trip home and our paths crossed on the train. As sure as the Christmas star shines bright, it did happen and our love will endure.
As for me, my time traveling days are over. I’m home.
We cuddle up together on the comfy old divan in the front room looking out the window, sunlight dancing over the ripples in the river like sugar plum fairies. All that matters is that Jeff is here with me.
‘Merry Christmas, darling,’ I say, praying by next year we’ll have a child of our own to share our happiness.
‘Merry Christmas, Jelly Girl.’
I let out a soft moan when I feel his hand slowly rubbing my back. A comforting touch that a husband gives his wife, showing his love. I can’t wait for us to get married. Stretching lazily, I find that special place in the curve of his shoulder and lay down my head. I yearn for his kiss that transcends the past forever, for the moment when time comes full circle and wraps us up in its embrace. I know without a doubt my heart, my soul, belong to him.
Jeff senses what I’m feeling and leans down and presses his lips against mine in a hot, lingering kiss, enfolding me in a love that will last a lifetime.
I let out a deep sigh when the kiss ends. ‘Can we do that again?’
‘How much time have you got?’ He kisses the tip of my nose.
I wrap my arms around his neck and lift my face for his kiss. Tender and warm and so filled with love, it makes me wiggle my toes. I never dreamed when I got on board the Christmas train on that cold December day, I’d find my man. Which gives me an idea I can’t wait to share with him.
‘I’ve been working on a book about us.’
‘Us?’
‘Why not? You and me before the war, then how I went back through time to save you from the Nazis, and how you spent years gallivanting around Europe and rebuilding France.’ I stop to take a breath, wishing I had my typewriter, my fingers already tapping out the first chapter. ‘It has everything you could want in a memoir. Excitement, intrigue, a wartime romance.’
‘A beautiful heroine.’
‘A handsome war hero with a sexy scar.’ I trace the outline of his brow with my finger, thinking the plot doesn’t sound anything like a memoir. ‘I’ll have to write it as fiction. No one will believe it.’
‘I do.’
With those sincere words and a smile from him, I have the answer to a question on my mind all day. Whether or not Jeff believes me when I tell him about my journey back through time. My heart lifts with his simple admission. I’ll never have to ask him again.
Did I change history?
I like to think I did.
Acknowledgments
I am so grateful to everyone on Team Boldwood in making my Christmas story the best it can be. A special thank you to my editor, Nia Beynon, for her support and expertise and her wonderful enthusiasm for my journey back to an era of red lipstick and wartime romance.
And a big thank you to all my readers who, like me, enjoy stepping back in time.
More from Jina Bacarr
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About the Author
Jina Bacarr is a US-based historical romance author of over 10 previous books. She has been a screenwriter, journalist and news reporter, but now writes full-time and lives in LA. Jina’s novels have been sold in 9 territories.
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First published in Great Britain in 2019 by Boldwood Books Ltd.
Copyright © Jina Bacarr, 2019
Cover Design by Becky Glibbery
The moral right of Jina Bacarr to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction and, except in the case of historical fact, any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Every effort has been made to obtain the necessary permissions with reference to copyright material, both illustrative and quoted. We apologise for any omissions in this respect and will be pleased to make the appropriate acknowledgements in any future edition.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
Paperback ISBN 978-1-83889-366-8
Ebook ISBN 978-1-83889-364-4
Kindle ISBN 978-1-83889-365-1
Audio CD ISBN 978-1-83889-367-5
MP3 CD ISBN 978-1-83889-412-2
Digital audio download ISBN 978-1-83889-369-9
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