The Balls in Our Courts [F.SxO.CxT.S]

Chapter Two

"Girls in sports," was the first thing Amelia encountered at the breakfast table followed by a, "what's next? Girls join the front lines." Arthur's eyes scanned the bolded headlines before tossing the paper to the middle of the table. She could have argued that plenty of women have fought in wars. Stories prove that feminine heroism in fact was not a myth or legend, but an integral part of humanity.

John reached over to grab it, his finger following each word. When nothing piqued his interest, he turned to Amelia. With a toothy grin, he posed a question, "would you fight in a war if you had to?"

She paused in thought before she reached for her tea cup. With a little unsure nod, she responded, "if I had to. I don't think many women would say no. We love our countries and families just as much-"

Arthur sighed, dismissing her words with a wave. "No woman has ever-"

"Joan of Arc," she interjected, a small grin playing on her lips.

He scoffed. As he lit his cigarette and took one big puff, history lessons replayed in his head. Finally decided, he said, "not a real person."

Polly, who had been listening rather intently, snorted as she took a sip of her morning tea. "In fact, she was, Arthur. Very real and a Saint. Jeanne d'Arc. Not only a saint, but a martyr."

"And," Amelia continued, "if women were always viewed as frail and weak, why did the Greeks make Athena the goddess of war and wisdom, Mr. Shelby? Your logic is flawed and unfounded. Furthermore, Queen Elizabeth I would hardly be regarded as one of England's best!" With that, she dunked a sugar cube in her tea.

John nodded, pleased with that stance, humored, "Guess we know who's fighting the Germans in the next round!"

"But there can't be a round two," Amelia countered, "it was the war to end all wars, was it not?"

"There is no such thing as a war to end all wars," Tommy Shelby said, hanging on the door frame. Everyone turned to look at him, greeting him with 'morning' and 'Hi, Tom'. "If there were," he continued, pushing off the frame and walking to the table to take a seat, "we would have fought it long ago. Now, finish your eggs. You have training in...," he paused, checking his pocket watch, "in 45 minutes. Takes 30 to drive there."

"And who's taking me?" she asked, looking over the men, praying it was not the eldest brother.

John smiled, the keys in his palm. She helped her host family clear the table, and skipped out to John's dowry gifted car.

In the car, he looked over at her, and asked "do you wish you could wear trousers?"

She shrugged, "guess I never thought about it...sometimes it is hard to run when no skirt ever fits properly on me." Most girls were able to wear a skirt about 12 inches up from their ankles, but at 155 centimeters, they often landed at the tops of her shoes. Her mother was no good at hemming pleats. By the third one she ruined, she insisted her daughter get used to it because I'm not paying for a seamstress, and I refuse to buy another skirt.