Sebastian Stan Short Stories

Bucky Barnes [6]

"The Real Story Part 2"

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October 1943, Indiana

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I read the stamps on each of the envelopes, all five, practically tracing the route James had traveled. New York City, London, "Italian Theatre Headquarters". Each envelope was full to bursting, chicken scratch handwriting all over them, except for the last. A big fat Return to Sender had been slapped over a letter I sent to him.

Once my husband left for work at 7:35 on the dot, I tore into the first envelope from a few weeks after our night together. It was full of papers with different dates on them, and I skimmed through eagerly.

To my best girl, I made it to New York safe and sound. No word on orders yet...

We leave next week... haven't seen Steve yet.

I saw Steve today and tried to set him up with a pair of twins...neither of them stuck...then he tried enlisting again.

I'm scared.

Then the first London letter.

London looks awful rough nowadays but the beer is still beer...

Turns out the rumors were true, we'll go to [redacted] in about [redacted].

I look at your picture everyday...

... tried taking me dancing. I didn't think I could...

...wish I was back in the States with you...

The second London letter was much thinner, only a couple pages, all from the same day.

If I don't make it, you leave him like you said you wanted to in your last letter. Even if I'm not there to make you happy, find someone else who will.

... I'm still scared, but now I know the men I'm fighting beside...

... trust them with my life...

I love you. I'm sorry I'm an ocean away.

I watched as a drop of water hit the page, and it took me far too long to realize I was crying. With blurry eyes, I opened the last envelope from him.

The trip to [redacted] wasn't too terrible. It's a bit warmer here and...

They say this will be an easy one... got the Germans on the run.

We're packed into trenches though...

...fried potatoes, real coffee, cigarettes, beer, something to read besides a survival manual. God, I miss a lot of things. And...

... pass around pictures of our girls back home to show off. You're the prettiest one...

Then I looked closer at my returned letters. The stamp was enough for the weight, the seal wasn't broken, the address was right. Why was it returned?

It was the most recent of my letters, the one in which I bared my soul to James. Told him about the money I had kept back since he went overseas, nickels and dimes and spare change. A full paragraph about my current inability to enter the spare bedroom without blushing. And at the very bottom, in unstable cursive that gave away how badly my hand had been shaking, I told him I was pregnant.

And the damn thing was returned.

I was crying out of frustration and hormones plain ol' sadness when someone knocked on the door. I wiped my tears, checked myself in a mirror, and tried to gather my emotions before opening the door.

"My husband isn't home right now, but I assure you his heart still murmurs," I told the pair of soldiers outside my door. My temper was flaring at their interruption into my pity party until I saw the crosses on one of the men's collars.

"Ma'am, you're listed as the next of kin for Sergeant James Barnes," the other soldier told me. The realization of why they were here nearly speed my heart.

"No, don't you dare," I whispered. More tears began to blur my vision as I stepped away from the door.

"Ma'am, Sergeant Barnes is missing in action. He and his unit are assumed to be prisoners-of-war," that same soldier continued. I was deaf to whatever else he said; all I knew was that the floor was getting closer and an Army uniform that wasn't James was catching me as I fell. I was bawling and clutching my stomach, his baby that he didn't know about. That he'd never know about now.

*

By the time my husband arrived home from work I had put myself back together. A basket of clothes were in from the line and ironed. The kitchen had been cleaned as best as a pregnant woman could. I was already working on dinner when he came in, slipping an arm around my waist and scared me half to death.

"Sorry, darling. Have a good day?" he asked innocently.

What a loaded question. How could he know that my heart had shattered only a few hours before? Did I expect him to realize I carried what I assumed to be another man's child? No, of course not.

"Just a regular day."

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Author's Note:

You all continue to impress me. One day passes and I'm up to 150 votes. I'm thrilled that so many people have read these little stories. I've got a few more ideas (I think) but I may start looking for outside inspiration. Anyway, thank you all again!