Page 277 of Dirty Discipline, Vol. 2

“I can only hope that it is still relevant,” Jack said. “Especially since I couldn’t get it to you faster. We will need to see if the Germans have changed their plans—”

“I don’t think we need worry about that,” General Helmsley said. “We intercepted reports of the Germans boasting they shot down your plane and that there were no survivors.” He paused and ran his hand over his face. “In fact, I’m afraid that the news of your presumed death has reached your family and… well, as you’d requested, I took it upon myself to send a telegram to your Betsy.”

Though it pained him to know his family believed him dead, Jack understood why the Army had seen fit to send the telegrams. Remembering the voice he’d heard in his delirium, he smiled. “Don’t ask me why, but I believe Betsy knows that I’m alive.”

The general smiled as well. “I don’t need to know why. The very fact that you are in my office is a miracle. Another one wouldn’t surprise me in the least. I just wish I could send you home—”

“I understand, Sir. There is work to be done here.” Jack wanted nothing more than to go home but having seen firsthand how people from England and France were fighting for their very right to survive, having held that little girl knowing her family had risked everything to get her to freedom, and having no doubt that his Betsy would be waiting, he knew he had to stay and see this bloody war to its end.

When Betsy opened the door, it was to find a very different man in Harvey Miller. The man had a smile from ear to ear and another telegram in his hand.

“It’s from your major,” he said. “It seems you might have been right, my dear.”

“I had no doubt,” Betsy said, taking the envelope and pressing it to her heart as she lifted onto her toes and gave the postmaster a kiss on his cheek.

Harvey flushed but his grin never faltered. “Here,” he said, pulling a roll of stamps from his pocket. “A gift from the United States Post Office to our most prolific letter writer.”

Betsy laughed and accepted the roll, knowing they’d be put to good use. Once back inside the house, Jane joined her as they both sank down on the couch. Not able to see the address, Betsy only then realized that tears were streaming down her face. Swiping them away, she opened the envelope and pulled out the piece of paper she’d prayed for weeks would appear.

My dearest Betsy. Stop. I love you. Stop. I’m so very sorry for the pain and worry I know you’ve gone through. Stop. All I can say is that your love kept me alive. Stop. Until I hold you in my arms, know I hold you in my heart. Stop. All my love forever, your Jack.

The two women hugged each other, both crying tears of relief and joy. “It’s a miracle,” Jane said, finally pulling away.

“It is,” Betsy agreed. “Want to help me bake?”

“Absolutely,” Jane said, the two rising and going to the kitchen.

With another box full of cookies ready to be mailed, Betsy sat on the edge of her bed, Jack’s picture once again in her hands as she said a prayer of thanks. Giving the glass a kiss, she set it on her nightstand and climbed between the sheets. Looking into his eyes, she smiled. “I love you, too, Jack.” She reached to turn out the light. “I don’t care if you consider it naughty, but if you ever do that to me again, I’m going to kill you myself!” Giggling for the first time in what seemed like forever, she pressed her fingertips to the glass and then fell into a peaceful sleep.

As the months passed, Betsy used every stamp on the roll she’d been gifted with, and several more. Hundreds of letters were shared, and she learned a bit about that awful night though nothing specific was shared. She understood the need for secrecy. Jack was protecting those brave souls who’d risked their lives from possible retaliation by the Germans. Dreams were voiced and found to be of a like quality, emotions became deeper, and words of love and plans for the future were shared. Every night, Betsy would kiss Jack’s photo, anxiously awaiting the day she’d feel the warmth of his lips against hers. She’d dream of him, of being in his arms, and one day giving birth to his children. There were no more questions on his salutations, as every letter opened with My dearest Betsy and closed with All My Love, your Jack. Every night she offered up prayers for the safety of Jack and all the soldiers, and she sobbed her thanks when first Germany and then Japan surrendered. The awful war was finally over.

Chapter Eight

“God, you are practically glowing,” Jane stated on July 4, 1945. It wasn’t only Independence Day; it was the day of the town’s celebration to welcome soldiers home.

“Everyone is,” Betsy stated, removing the last pin from her hair and brushing the springy curls into some semblance of order.

“No, honey, everyone is happy but you, my friend, shine like a lighthouse beacon. I am so happy for you.”

Betsy hugged her best friend. “You were the one who lit the lamp. If not for your suggestion, I’d never have written to Jack or fallen in love. I’ll never be able to thank you enough.”

“Just seeing you so very happy is all the thanks I need. Now, enough with the sap… we need to get going.”

The town square was teeming with people. Bunting had been draped across every intersection along Main Street. Streamers hung from the light posts and small American flags fluttered around the perimeter of the bandstand. Everywhere one turned they saw red, white and blue.

“I have to admit, the decorating committee did an amazing job,” Jane said.

Betsy giggled. “Hmmm, you wouldn’t be saying that just because you were on that committee, would you?”

“Of course,” Jane agreed. “After all, there were plenty of men volunteering to hold a ladder steady for a girl. How many men were in the kitchen baking cookies?”

“None, but as they say, the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.” Betsy lifted the box she was holding. “How about helping me put these out? It’s about time for the party to start.”

“Honey, haven’t those letters from Mr. Bossy taught you anything? A man doesn’t care what you feed him as long as it gives him the energy for far more pleasant pursuits.”

Betsy bumped her hip against her friend’s. “Don’t be naughty, and I can’t believe you are still calling Jack, Mr. Bossy.”

Jane laughed and shook her head as the two began transferring the cupcakes from the box onto plates on one of the many tables that had been set up. “He’ll always be Mr. Bossy to me.” When Betsy rolled her eyes, Jane grinned. “I’m still willing to bet that even if you hand-fed a cupcake to one of these soldiers, the moment you kissed him, he’d be unable to remember if he’d eaten chocolate or a piece of shoe leather.”

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