I have to say thanks to Avelister for this beautiful request. I hope you like the end result.
§§§
The dull knock on the door startles her. It's a lazy Sunday afternoon in the quite town of Berk, in Berkshire, England and the only excitement she expected for the day was the short-lived but feisty hail storm that chased her back to the house a few minutes ago.
She feels it in her guts that it won't be good news. She takes a deep breath and straightens her skirt and goes for the door, but stops before turning the knob.
Through the translucent glass she sees the silhouette of two men standing on the porch and she recognizes the outlines of their cap; they're from the army. But none of them is her husband, she is quite sure about that, he has a much more slender figure and she seriously doubts that he put on weight while serving in a dark and soulless war.
No… She knows they are here to share the news she's been dreading in the past painfully lonely months.
She waits another second and neatens her hair; she brushes a stray strand of blonde hair behind her ear and touches her tight bun just above the nape of her neck.
She swallows hard then turns the door knob and slowly opens the door. Their truck is parked a few yards from the house and she wonders why she didn't hear it, probably because of the hail.
She doesn't greet the two men; she doesn't say anything she just looks at them as they slowly take off their caps. They are young, they should look young, but the war ploughed deep wrinkles on their foreheads and filled their eyes with constant sorrow.
She feels sorry for them. She knows why they are here and she doesn't envy them.
She turns back and heads for the living room with slow steps, almost waltzing, absentmindedly humming a bittersweet tune. She has left the door wide open for the soldiers who bashfully follow her.
She looks back behind her shoulder and notices a small package in the younger one's hand. It's wrapped in brown paper, tightly tied with twine and it rustles with every move he makes.
She stops at the shiny mahogany dining table and turns around. She gestures to the man to place the package on the tabletop and he does it with the utmost care.
The older man looks at her and sniffs. "He was…"
Astrid nods. "I know… He was a good man." The words come surprisingly easy, even the use of past tense comes without any difficulties, but she wants to make their job easier, their burdens lighter. She knows they suffer enough without the ungrateful task of notifying women about their husbands'… She wants to erase the word that's forming in her mind; it's too early to say it, it's too early to think about it.
"He was…" The man starts again. He wants to give her an explanation, but she doesn't need it.
"Please…" She looks at the insignia on his sleeve then the name on his jacket. "Lieutenant Eretson… I'm not interested in the 'hows' and 'whats'."
He presses his lips together and looks at his younger companion. They have been told that Mrs. Haddock wasn't like any other woman, but he certainly didn't expect her to be disinterested in her husband's fate.
The younger man clears his throat; he feels that he has to say something to the widow of his legendry squadron leader.
"Mrs. Haddock, if you need…"
She flashes him a faint smile; he looks so young and innocent. "I'll be fine… pilot officer Gustav."
There's an awkward silence, but she soon breaks it. "If you'll excuse me, I…"
They leave as quietly as they came.
She closes the door behind them and stumbles back to the living room. Now that she is left alone, she lets the growing weakness take over her body. She collapses on a chair at the table, looking at the package with bleary eyes.
She knows that all that has been dear to her in this world is gone; it disappeared into the thin air, like the raindrops that vapor from the leaves of the thick shrubs in their garden. In her garden.
She has to replace all pronouns in her life.
§§§
Dusk comes and darkness falls and in the blink an eye a new day dawns. The package is still lying on the table unopened. She is still sitting in front of it with her arms crossed on the tabletop, but fatigue soon defeats her.
Her heavy head falls on her slender arms and she dozes off for a few dreamless moments.
She can't sleep, she can't cry and she wants to scream.
Finally, her tired body triumphs over her restless mind; it turns her off and she spends a couple hours in a place without pain, loss and consciousness.
§§§
When she wakes up, she wants to open it. She lifts the package, it's soft and light and she knows that the brown wrapping conceals a piece of clothing.
She is right, it's his uniform jacket. Torn and scorched, but his name is clearly readable on it. "HADDOCK." She strokes the letters, one by one, with her index finger.
She remembers the night when she embroidered it on the rough fabric with the yellow yarn she hated so much. It was a couple of days before he had to leave. She couldn't find her thimble and she often pierced herself with the needle in the dim light, cursing a lot and rolling her eyes even more often, and he, who sat next to her on the floor, grabbed her hand each and every time to kiss away the stinging pain.
No one will do that for her anymore.
She checks the pockets, but can't find anything in them except for an old picture of her. She is smiling on it. She hates that unsuspecting, juvenile grin and she almost tears it apart, but when she takes a closer look at it, she notices that the bright paper is covered with fingerprints.
His fingerprints.
Tiny loops and arches draw around her face on the picture where he touched it, and this is the most personal thing that's left of him…
She lifts the picture up and kisses it with trembling lips. Mute tears run down her cheeks while she carefully puts it back into the pocket, because she doesn't want to smudge the prints.
§§§
She searches for her wedding dress; it's at the bottom of a chest in the attic. It's so elegant and simple, much like their wedding was. Probably she could dye it black and wear it for the funeral...
She doesn't even know why he has to have a funeral; nothing is left of him apart from a burnt military uniform, the symbol of an unjust war. But her father-in-law insists on it.
He dropped by the other day with a broken face and a crushed heart. He couldn't say much apart from telling her that he had arranged the funeral. When he was about to leave, he hesitated before stepping out of the door but then shyly hugged her.
She got lost between those giant arms, but the warmth of Stoick's hug and the gentle beat of his heart gave her some comfort - for the first time in days.
§§§
He insisted on the wedding. They had been together since they were 16 and they wanted to wait until they were finished with school, but the war made them change their plans.
He persisted in marrying her, even though she refused him a couple of times, because she hated the reason why he wanted to tie the knot so eagerly. Of course, on one hand they were madly in love with each other, but on the other, his practical thinking was a pure romance killer. War widow's pension.
It led to their fiercest fight ever with her blaming him that he deliberately wanted to get himself murdered. She was crying hot tears and hit his chest with fisted hands until his strong arms laced around her and held her tight.
Then he calmly explained to her that all he wanted was to take care of her, one way or another, even in his death, since apart from a couple of distant cousins she had no family, she had no support.
Eventually she said yes, but it was hard and it left a bile taste in her mouth until a couple days later he properly, unexpectedly and sweetly proposed on one knee.
§§§
They had only one week of marriage to enjoy before he had to leave and there wasn't much enjoyment in it.
No, it's not fair to put it that way, but there was another thing he insisted on: he didn't want to sleep with her. He didn't want to make her damaged goods, because his damn cool logic suggested that it would be easier for her to re-marry if she was untouched.
She hated him for it; she hated him for always trying to protect her. She didn't need any sheltering and shielding, she could take care of herself.
But he was stubborn as a dead mule and she couldn't make him change his mind, no matter how seductively she behaved.
He was blind to her beauty, but only because he forced himself to be blind and once she had understood how much he suffered because of it, she never hated him again.
Except for now when all she could think was how he denied the memory of their first night together from her, a thing they've been both dreaming about for years.
§§§
She had to go and get some food; all her cupboards and shelves were empty. She hasn't eaten in the past couple of days and she felt that all her strength is starting to leave her.
She walked three miles in the burning August sun to the market by the train station. She put a few apples and carrots into her woven basket but even the thought of eating made her nauseated. The sun was especially cruel today and the market was crowded. The waves of people twirling around her sickened her further.
She pulled out a handkerchief from her pocket and wiped her sweaty forehead. She looked up and her heart skipped a beat; she saw a chestnut-colored spot not far from herself.
Splendid, on the top of all her troubles, she is starting to hallucinate now. She had expected it, she knew that people tend to imagine things after a great loss, she just wasn't ready for it.
She looked away and rubbed her eyes with her free hand. She looked back up again and voila, the mirage was gone. She shook her head and even smiled the little, it was so embarrassing.
She decided on leaving the stomach-churning crowd and seek refuge in her lonely, quiet house, but when she turned around she became petrified.
She has never believed in the existence of the unnatural, but she has also never expected to come across a ghost. Her husband's ghost.
Her legs gave out. She dropped her basket and the apples rolled away in every direction. She fell on the dusty ground and she faintly heard someone say "Astrid", but she lost consciousness a moment later.
§§§
She woke up in her bed alone. She must have fallen asleep. She remembered having a weird dream about going to the market and seeing...
Suddenly she heard a thump coming from the kitchen. Then some other noises.
She became frightened; lots of people know that she was living alone and anything could happen while a country is at war.
Normally, she didn't care about intruders; a lonely life wasn't for the faint of heart, but she knew she could protect herself. Except… now she was weak and vulnerable.
She knew there was a cricket bat under the bed, but it never occurred to her that she would have to use it one day. She quietly got out from the bed and slowly knelt down and reached for the wooden object. She grabbed it and pulled it out and already felt a little braver.
She sneaked out, hiding in the familiar shadows of her house, heading towards the kitchen. She heard whistling. Her legs were trembling, her arms felt weak, the bat was heavy. When she got to the door, she saw the shadow of a person on the floor; he was standing behind the half-closed door.
She strengthened her grip around the bat and in a valiant effort she lifted it up as high as she could.
Suddenly, the door opened and she was facing the ghost again.
"Astrid!" He cried out and it was definitely his voice, his face, his body, except it couldn't have been him. She dropped the bat and collapsed next to it on the floor, in a sitting position, pulling her bent legs to her chest, starting to cry. Her stupid senses were playing a cruel game with her...
But then the ghost knelt down next to her and hugged her and she wanted to push him away – even though he felt terribly solid for a ghost - but he was stronger and he hold her tight and his dry lips searched for her tear-laced ones and he melted his mouth into hers.
"You-you are dead..." She sobbed when the eager lips left her, not daring to look at the one who was now gently stroking her hair.
"I hate to disappoint you, but I'm not. I'm dead tired, that's true, but I'm not dead dead."
She looked at him. He was flashing his stupid gap-toothed smile. She wanted to slap him. To plough his face with her nails. To hurt him. But she just started to cry again and through the veil of tears, he glued his lips to hers again.
"I-I-I don't understand..." She stuttered when they parted. "How?"
He sighed and drew her closer, burying his nose in her disheveled, golden curls.
"Huh. Nothing exciting, really. There was another soldier named Hadder… and he mistakenly took my jacket and… crashed his plane. He was badly burnt, he was unrecognizable and in the mean time I was stuck at a military hospital at another army camp. I went there to check on an injured pilot of mine, but they started to bomb and I couldn't leave the area for days, it was unsafe."
She doesn't say a word but touches his face with the tips of her fingers. He turns his head and kisses her palm.
She sniffs. "When will you have to leave?"
"Three days."
She nods.
§§§
She cooks a soup and it tastes less terrible than normally or they are just far too hungry. They lie down in the garden, among the tall, soft grasses and she is telling him about their friends and family, sharing all the little things with him that he had to miss out.
Night comes and even though it's warm and balmy, the mosquitoes are terrible. They go back inside and change into night clothes.
Since it is still so damn hot, he only wears a pair of pajama bottoms and she is shocked to see how thin he had become, but she doesn't mention it.
They lie in their bed and they kiss passionately. She tears her mouth from his and she has a determined look on her face. He wants to say something, but she stops him. "Don't you dare to refuse me again, Haddock."
He shakes his head. "I wouldn't do that." He kisses her again and his lips burn hers. She climbs on top of him and he puts his hands under her nightgown, damp palms slowly and maddeningly slipping up on her strong thighs.
"Listen," she pants, she has some hard words to say. "I… I don't mind if you were with other women, I mean, with the war and all…"
His hands stop on her thigh. Then he starts to laugh. He grabs her by the waist and turns her over and presses her into the freshly washed pillows. He climbs between her legs, still laughing and ducks his head down to leave a cheeky little kiss on her collarbone.
"Wifey, you're such a noodle, really," he is definitely amused while he places giggly kisses along the hem of her nightgown, but then he looks up, into the deep sea of her blue eyes.
"You were, are and always will be the one and only."
He leans down to kiss her gently while his hands slip back under her gown again. The white piece of clothes soon lands on the floor and is quickly followed by his pajamas.
He is careful and gentle and a bit clumsy during their first, but when they do it for the second time, it's smooth and sweet and their deep moans and uneven pants fill the warm air of their house.
§§§
The three days go by fast and the all of a sudden it's their last night together in the married bed. They make love and spoon afterwards; in the humid air of the bedroom, his bare chest sticks to her naked back. He wants to prolong his goodbye as long as he can and instead of talking, he just gently sniffs the nape of her neck, trying to memorize her scent.
"I'm going with you."
He smiles, but it breaks his heart. "Astrid, you know you can't."
She scoots away and turns around to face him. "Yes, I can."
"Babe, I know you're sweet and stubborn, but..."
She narrows her eyes. "No, you don't get it, I really can."
There's a puzzled look on his face and she takes a deep breath before starting to talk.
"I didn't just want to sit around while you were away so I talked to your dad and I... I went to his Academy and I'm a trained pilot, I'm a cadet. I can fly Spitfires, Hurricanes, Lancasters. Actually, I was the top of my class."
His eyes grow wild and he almost forgets to breath.
"My good records and your father's influence got me into your squadron."
He sighs. "I assume I have no say in this matter, right?"
She shakes her head. "Nope."
"Huh. So we're going to shoot bandits together?"
"You don't hate me for this, do you?"
He closes his eye and pulls her very close. "How could I hate the world's bravest wife?"
§§§
The next morning they wake up early to pack everything and his heart rate elevates when he sees her in the uniform for the first time.
She is beautiful with her serious face and tight bun under her RAF cap, but a sad feeling buds in his heart.
He has already seen all the terrible things this unholy war offers and it has never occurred to him that one day he has to share this experience with his wife.
He knows she is fearless and a fighter, but he also knows that in war, there are no unwounded soldiers.
§§§
I borrowed the last thought from the brilliant José Narosky.
Reviews would be much appreciated!