In His Hands, page 4
Betsy could feel her face flush at the words she’d just written and yet knew they were a true depiction of not only how she’d acted, but how she’d felt when reading Jack’s response. Resisting the urge to wad up the sheet and begin again, leaving out the admittance of guilt, she forced herself to be honest and continued.
I must also confess that your response has me hoping that you’ve forgiven me. As for Jane, she has not only forgiven me, but encouraged me to write you and let you know the real Betsy, so I’m taking her advice. I am a school teacher and love watching my students learn new things. When not in the kitchen trying new recipes, you’ll often find me curled up on the divan and losing myself in the pages of a good book. You mention the radio shows you listen to and though I’ve not heard of those, I do enjoy listening to Bing Crosby and am quite addicted to a few other programs. I love going to the movies, and confess the newsreels about the war make me sad thinking of how the world is so torn apart. When not inside, I enjoy long walks and picnics. Jane says that I’m an old soul and I can’t deny that I am.
I know we’ve not met, but there is something about your words, your beliefs, I suppose, that touch me in ways I’d never considered. I won’t say that I understand my feelings because, to be honest, I don’t. But asking myself why I feel pulled to make this confession doesn’t keep me from feeling the need to write to you and ask your forgiveness. I’m not one to lie and I feel just awful for doing so. I can only promise that I won’t do so again.
Betsy smiled, her words penned across the sheet going a long way towards easing the guilt she’d felt. Hopefully, the major would accept her apology and, if a future relationship between them was meant to be, the next step would need to be his. Her cheeks flushed as she wrote the last bit.
I really don’t know much about baseball, but I find myself hoping that one day you’ll ask me to a game and perhaps explain the rules of play. Until then, I’ve pitched the ball back to you, sir. If you wish to simply drop it and walk off the field, I’ll understand. You don’t condone deceit and I was deliberately deceitful. But, if you’ll give me another chance, I hope to prove that I’m not really that type of girl.
Whatever you decide, Major, please know that my thoughts and prayers are with you. Stay safe during this awful time and know that people stateside appreciate your service.
Sincerely,
Betsy
PS: Please don’t consider these cookies as an attempt to negate my guilt. Your thanks for the cookies from Christmas reminded me that our soldiers miss so much being so far from home. I thought you might enjoy these and share them with your buddies the next time you are gathered around the radio. If you get the program, I highly recommend Ellory Queen—it is a wonderful program full of mysteries to solve. Though I now wonder if I need to listen a bit more closely as I never considered that I was leaving clues to my identity with a strand of hair or the shape of my lips.
Once the letter was sealed, Betsy spent the rest of the day baking cookies. Jane wandered in and smiled, snatching a fresh chocolate chip cookie from the cooling rack. “Good idea, Bets. Bribery with home-baked goods is very clever.”
Betsy slapped at her hand as Jane attempted to snag another cookie. “It’s not bribery! It’s just that those poor soldiers do without so much. A few cookies are a poor substitute for the comforts of home.”
Jane laughed and had not one but two cookies in her hands before Betsy could react. Taking a big bite, she rolled her eyes. “All I know is that if a certain major can resist the woman who makes such treats, then it will be his loss. You’ve definitely hit a home run with these.”
“I’m just hoping that perhaps they and my letter will be enough to get me into the stadium,” Betsy confessed, acknowledging that the dozens of cookies she’d made were perhaps a little bribe after all.
“I guarantee it,” Jane said, reaching for the wax paper after wiping her chocolate stained fingers on a towel. “Here, I’ll help you package them.”
The two women worked together, filling a large box with a variety of cookies, both knowing that despite their care, most would be reduced to crumbs by the time the box made it overseas. Before sealing the box, Betsy slipped another sheet in. She couldn’t stop the soft giggle as the picture she’d drawn stared up at her when she reached for the packing tape. Even if the cookies didn’t convince the major of her sorrow at her deceit, the picture most certainly would.
Taping and addressing the box, she gathered up her letters and placed them all on the little table by the front door.
Bright and early Monday, she was the first customer in line at the post office.
“Good morning, Betsy,” Edith said. “Who’s the lucky recipient this time?”
“Major Novak,” Betsy said, placing her box on the counter. Edith weighed it and began covering the box with different stamps, being careful not to mar the purple envelope centered on the box’s front.
Edith smiled. “By the delicious smells, I know your cookies will make the major quite happy. Is there anything else you need today?” Betsy handed over payment for the package as well as another roll of stamps. With any luck, she’d be using quite a few. Giving the older woman a wave, she left the post office and climbed into her car. When she found herself humming, she stopped mid-note. Giggling, she shook her head as she recognized the tune that continued playing in her head. Take Me Out to the Ballgame was exactly what she was hoping would be in her future. That and a man holding her hand, explaining the game, and sharing the prize inside his box of caramel corn and peanuts. It was a wonderful hope to have, and the feeling of anticipation filled her heart.
“Novak, Novak, Novak.”
Jack grinned as his name was repeatedly called out by the soldier handling today’s mail call. Ignoring the grunts of his fellow officers, he stepped forward and accepted the fistful of letters. He began to turn to step back when he heard, “Hold up, Major.” Jack’s smile grew wider as a large box was passed to him.
“You are planning on sharing, aren’t you?” Bill asked when he’d returned to the group.
Jack didn’t even consider asking how the man knew he’d even want what was inside the box. The aroma of baked goods was unmistakable though, to be honest, he was far more interested in the scent of lilacs faintly discernible beneath the tantalizing smell of chocolate. Shaking the box slightly, he grinned. “Sure, but I suggest anyone who wants a taste grabs a spoon.”
“Not a problem,” Bill stated, other officers agreeing instantly.
After the last letter had been given over, the group left to return to the common room. Jack set the box on a table and carefully slit the tape holding the letter to the box.
“Not going to share the letter?” Bill teased.
“Not in this lifetime,” Jack said, handing the knife to his friend. “Be glad I’m the generous sort and will share what I remember as being the best cookies I’ve ever tasted.” Bill took the knife while Jack stepped back, turning the envelope over and feeling disappointment sweep over him at the absence of a pair of pursed lips sealing the flap. Were the cookies a way of saying good-bye? It would be a sweet gesture, he admitted, but he’d much rather do without the cookies in lieu of starting what had seemed like a promising exchange with a woman he’d felt instantly drawn to.
Laughter had him looking up and seeing Bill picking up a sheet of paper from inside the box. “What’s that?” another officer asked, reaching for the sheet.
“Not for us, I’m sure,” Bill said, holding the paper out to Jack. “You never told me your gal is quite the artist.”
“I didn’t know she was,” Jack confessed, accepting the paper which proved to be a drawing. He couldn’t help the smile from turning up his lips as he saw what was on the sheet. A stick figure stood before a blackboard, her hand lifted, a piece of what was supposed to be chalk held between her fingers. The gender was depicted by the skirt the figure wore and since she was standing to the far right, the left side of the board was visible. Line after line ran down the board and he couldn’t help but remember how he’d written something about writing lines as a form of penance. Before he even opened the letter momentarily forgotten in his hand, he had the distinct feeling that everything would be all right. Columns of one simple statement had been repeated again and again: I will never be deceitful again. Seems like Betsy had taken his reprimand to heart. More than that, her drawing told him that she had a sense of humor as well as a need to seek forgiveness.
“Here.” Bill’s voice caused him to look up. “Thought you’d like some. After all, I’m assuming she’ll expect you to tell her how delicious her cookies were.”
“Thanks,” Jack said, accepting the plate that had been piled high with the pieces of broken cookies. Popping one chunk into his mouth, he knew he’d not only be telling the baker that she was a fantastic cook, but that if her letter read anything like what he hoped, he’d be informing her that he wanted to be far more than just another pen-pal.
He waited until he was in his room before he opened the envelope. Pulling out the sheets, he frowned a bit at the salutation and then realized that she was addressing him with respect. It didn’t take but a moment for him to understand exactly how contrite she was. It took him even less time to completely forgive his little minx. Her admittance of being ‘a teensy bit naughty’ had him picturing an image of her bent over, her bottom lifted as she pulled a tray of cookies from the oven. The vision had his palm itching. In his mind, she turned and saw him, her cheeks pinkening, telling of her guilty feelings. He knew that no matter if he simply stated she was forgiven, this woman needed something more. Jack felt his cock twitch, picturing the scene as he waited for her to place the tray on a cooling rack before reaching for her hand. She’d place hers in his, allowing him to lead her to a chair where he’d sit and draw her between his legs. She’d be looking down, her fingers perhaps twisted in the apron she wore to protect her dress, and yet he knew that it would offer absolutely no protection where she’d need it the most. He’d pull her down over his lap, lift her skirt, lower her panties and paint her bottom a pretty shade of red. She’d beg for forgiveness, make promises never to be naughty again, and finally shed the tears that allowed her guilt to flow from her. Afterwards, he’d sit her on his lap and cuddle her close, assuring her the slate was clean and that she was forgiven. The sound of a shout of laughter jolted Jack out of the most wonderful fantasy he’d had in his life. Good grief, how had he conjured up such a scene over nothing more than the opening paragraph of a letter?
He didn’t even have to think about forgiving her. The remainder of her letter had him smiling and knowing that he’d be penning a response assuring her that he was thrilled to start over. A teacher, a woman who loved to read, who grew teary-eyed at newsreels while she thought about soldiers overseas, one who enjoyed hiking and picnics were only a glimpse at what was proving to be the jewel of Betsy Riddle. Jack chuckled at her desire for him to explain the ‘rules of the game’, knowing that he’d enjoy teaching her not only the rules of baseball, but the rules which he’d expect his wife to abide by. That thought instantly pulled him up short. Wife? Where had that come from? Though he’d no illusions as to the fact that he wished to settle down once this horrendous war was over, he’d never truly considered any woman as a possible Mrs. Novak. Jane had come the closest but he’d known from the beginning that she wasn’t exactly whom he was searching for. And Betsy? Was she? For some reason, his gut was telling him that she might be. He laughed aloud at her postscript… the fact that she had a sense of humor to go along with her generous heart only endeared her to him more. Scooping another bite of cookie pieces into his mouth, he dusted the crumbs from his fingers and reached for his own paper. It was time to assure his little minx that she would be totally forgiven… if her next letter addressed him as Jack and was sealed with the impression of lips he suddenly couldn’t wait to kiss.
My dear Betsy,
Thank you for your lovely letter. It not only brightened my day, but has brought me hope. What I’m about to say may sound crazy, but I find I must let you know how I feel. I know that we’ve not met and yet I have no doubt I would know you if you stood among a thousand others. Shall I make my own confession?
I’ve pictured you curled up on that divan and wish that you were snuggled up against my side while we listened to your favorite programs. I’ve pictured you in your apron as you busy yourself in the kitchen making the cookies that have earned you the title of ‘best baker in the war’ amongst my fellow officers. I picture you standing in front of your class, addressing little minds and teaching your students that education is more than learning to read and write. Your very actions, writing to soldiers, knitting socks, baking cookies all show your loving heart. You call yourself an old soul and yet I find you refreshing in your love for things that offer comfort to so many.
Jack grinned and threw caution to the wind as he continued.
And as I look at this adorable drawing you made, I see a woman who knows that confession is good for the soul. I only found fault with a couple of things. I may be Major Novak to most, but to you, I want to be something far more. Please call me Jack. You will only need to call me sir when you’ve been a naughty girl and must pay for that transgression. But even then, little minx, you’ll know that I only punish those who have stolen my heart. I look forward to teaching you the rules of any game you wish and to showing you how a life guided with love and discipline will be cherished by us both.
Yes, I realize that my beliefs are considered old-fashioned, and yet that is simply who I am. I’m a man who believes in loving with his entire heart and protecting what is mine. I find I must ask your forgiveness for being so forward. But if there is one thing Jane has taught me, it is that life is too short to keep feelings hidden. I pray that you are of the same belief as I and will wait with bated breath for your next letter…
With affection,
Jack
PS: If I see a pair of lips sealing that letter with a kiss then you will make this major extremely happy.
Chapter 6
Lilac scented letters flew across the Atlantic on an almost daily basis. Once she’d come clean and confessed her crime, and had received Jack’s letter of forgiveness, Betsy felt free to become herself on every page. His words had stirred her heart and filled her soul. As her other pen-pals moved to new posts, returned home, or informed her that they’d found the woman of their dreams, Betsy did not add new names to her list. Jack kept her busy enough as she first filled her letters with rather mundane news but soon graduated to ones full of humor over the anecdotes she shared about her pupils’ antics in the classroom. He responded with stories about his men that often brought tears to her eyes. He wrote about his family until she felt as if she knew them.
It wasn’t long before every letter held a reminder to be his ‘good girl’, which always had the instant power to make her heart beat fast, her bottom to clench, and her lady-bits to tingle at the thought of what would happen when she wasn’t quite as ‘good’ as she should be. When she’d dared to ask if he truly meant to include corporal discipline in their lives, he had sent back an emphatically stated response of: Absolutely. That said, I promise you the greatest pleasure found is in the arms of a man who wishes nothing more than to love with passion, protect with his very life and, yes, guide with his discipline. His honesty had Betsy admitting that she felt secure in his promise. Of course, that might change the first time his words became action, but she was a good girl and held no real worry that she’d ever be over his knees. Sharing his news with Jane had her best friend laughing.
“How come I have a feeling that you are going to have to remove those rose-colored glasses sooner than you think?” Jane asked, shaking her head.
“You forget, I’m the fuddy-duddy,” Betsy said. “I’m not worried in the slightest.”
“Keep telling yourself that,” Jane suggested as she gave Betsy a hug. “Just don’t come running to me the first time Mr. Bossy decides to show you he means what he says.”
Betsy shooed away any concerns as their letters continued. Before long, they were sharing thoughts and feelings that couples who dated in the traditional manner usually didn’t share for months or even years. It was far easier to speak about everything on paper than it might have been sitting across from a date. As the new year of their letter exchange began, they started speaking about marriage and a future once the war was over.
But one day, the letters just stopped.
Jack looked at the sheaf of documents, knowing he’d found a cache that could possibly affect the outcome of the war. Debris was scattered all around, darkness was held at bay by the fires still burning from the explosions he and the resistance members had set to destroy the German convoy. Though he wasn’t expected to return for another two weeks, Jack knew his orders needed to be changed. Turning to Maurice, he said, “I’ve got to get these back to headquarters.”
The leader of the group nodded even as the sound of a gunshot filled the air. They’d both lost friends during the years they’d been fighting together. “We’ll send a message as soon as we can, but first, we need to get away from here. I’m sure this place will be crawling with more Germans soon enough,” Maurice said.
The men quickly gathered any evidence that would lead the enemy to them and with the rest of the group, they melted back into the forest. Jack tucked the documents into his satchel before climbing onto his bicycle. He settled his beret on his head, knowing that if he were caught out of uniform, he’d be shot as a spy after being tortured for any information that he possessed. It was a long ride back to the farmhouse the partisans used as their temporary headquarters.
Once settled around the kitchen table, he spread the papers out again. His mind translated the German into English as he told the others what they had found. Germany was obviously preparing for the expected invasion of English forces and their allies. These documents told of troop buildup, fortifications along the coast, and locations of gas and ammunition to resupply the German soldiers. He looked up at Maurice. “How soon can you get me back across the channel?”
