Sealed With Ink

Thirteen

Arabella, I suggest you listen to me very carefully...
11 July 1945

Arabella, you should consider yourself an incredibly lucky woman that parchment cannot come alive and throttle people. If it could, you would find yourself in a very vicious brawl with the letter in your hand right now.

I was going to say this in person, but I think for both our sakes, this letter is the better alternative.

Arabella Walker, you are most definitely the most foolish, blindly noble, and stupidly selfless person I have ever met. How could you?

Arabella, you had the chance to leave this hellhole, you wanted to leave this hellhole, and you turned down the opportunity. For what? For some naive sense of purpose?

You do realize, darling, that no one will care about us after this war? That all the brave men that are risking, some losing, their lives won't be remembered after this war is done. The only people who might be remembered are the commanders, the colonels, the generals. We are nothing but collateral damage to them. You realize that?

You are nothing but collateral damage to them. Ten years from now, when the war is done, these commanders and generals won't even remember who Archer Walker was and or give a shit about what he did for the war efforts.

And yes, I did realize that you were in love with me. I am in love with you too, which brings me to my next point.

Have I not made myself clear in the six letters I have poured my heart into that losing you would break me? Have I not made myself clear that it would make me happy beyond words to know that you are safe and sound at home? Have I not made myself clear that I would do anything to have you sent home, away from danger? Have I not made myself clear that you are the only person I have ever loved, ever allowed myself to love, and that I will protect you at all costs?

Clearly not.

Because you chose to ignore that and stay. Put yourself in danger. Put me in danger, even if indirectly.

To be quite honest, had it not been for my family still depending on me, I could care less about my own well-being. But yours, I will not let you play hooky with your life.

Had you agreed to go, I would have found a way to stay in the lowest ranks because I wouldn't be trying to stay in your rank. I might have even been sent home, because let's face reality, I'm a nuisance around here. We could have been sitting in a park, in London, enjoying life, creating memories.

But thanks to your ignorance, instead of lounging in the sun, I have hunched over some pathetic lamp trying to drown out the memory of Gregory howling as his foot got blown to bits.

So, forgive me, Arabella. But you will not be receiving a kind, light-hearted, love-filled letter from me this time.

You are going home. End of story. You are going to write back to August, telling him that you came to your senses and that you want to go home.

And so help me God, if you even think of saying no, I will drag you back myself.

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