The Way Back Home

Chapter Twenty Two: A Thousand Years

You are the reason for my joy, the only one I miss

You are the love of my life, sweet and true

With you I am safe; my happiness is only in you

I am the luckiest woman in the world, this I can say

Knowing you are mine brightens my every day"*

Past, present or future,

I'm forever yours,

Love, Emmanuelle

XXX

April 10th 1917

Lance Corporal Schofield read the poem over verse by verse multiple times, blinking back tears of disbelief, his heart pumping pure euphoric bliss throughout his veins. A rare genuine smile graced his lips as he leaned his head back against the tree, careful not to place too much pressure on the back of his cranium.

Any bodily injury he'd received in the last few days only became numb each time he would think of her, safe and miles away in a hospital. His soul and sanity, withered and frayed from the last three years was slowly coming back together, as though his love for this woman was healing him.

Handling the letters carefully so the paper wouldn't be wrinkled, he folded them into thirds, pulling out his tobacco tin with his belongings. He hadn't looked at the picture of his Emmy since a couple days ago when the black and white image of her in a wedding gown left him stunned and confused, worrying him that some unknown fate would befall her.

His scarred, yet mending hand removed the lid of the tin to place the letters inside as an addition to his letter stack from Molly and her daughters.

How his heart ached with missing them, their innocent smiles and laughter, and Molly's sense of humor while still keeping a ladylike dignity to her. What he would've given in that moment to confide everything he was feeling to her, about the war, about missing home and about the girl miles away from him who stole his heart and he hers.

As he was placing Emmy's letter with delicate care into the tin, his eyes landed on the picture of the American brunette beauty who herself denied that she possessed such a quality that drew men to her.

How he yearned to spend the remainder of his days proving how wrong she was...

The photograph of his Emmanuelle was back to how it'd originally been before, in glorious color and with her clothed in a strange tunic and pants similar to the borrowed clothes she had worn when the ambulance took her away from the 2nd Devons' camp. Her gorgeous green eyes that he could look into for days were framed in spectacles, which made him curious knowing that she had needed them before.

He made a mental note to ask her about that once they were settled in back in Surrey.

Her luscious flowing brown hair was twirled in a bun behind her head, straying strands framing her angelic face as she smiled brightly at the camera.

A single image of her beaming with delight left him speechless and bewitched...

He needed to write to her now while the inspiration spurned his mind forward and encouraged him to romance her all over again with words that would make Romeo Montague's sonnets to Juliet Capulet sound like a naïve schoolboy talking tongue-tied to a girl he fancied.

He only had a certain amount of paper left to write on until more supplies were delivered, so he had to make each word count. Schofield placed the picture of Emmy so it was leaning against the tobacco tin and he used the lid for a hard enough surface as an improvised desk.