It was the June of 1940 and you were distraught to say the least.
What seemed like a lifetime ago to you, was the day you said a suffocatingly difficult farewell to your love, Harry, at the train station. On that rushed day of budding bravery and departing train whistles, Harry had stood before you in the doorway of the train with gleaming buttons to match the look in his eyes of both excitement and tears of leaving you behind. You called for him to reach into his pocket. You had snuck two of your cookies in there during your picnic together only an hour before. It had been his favourite recipe since he was a little boy. You remembered this because of your many times making them as a young girl in attempt to have him like you.
You sat alone upon the large hill beneath the oak tree with a picnic basket, imagining the times you and Harry had there. The two of you had spent many days on that hill and grew up watching clouds from the picnic blanket. You shuddered to think of Harry trapped in Dunkirk. You had read in the paper that morning about the peril of the situation. You had felt sick since you processed the information and felt frustrated in helplessness. How could a good man get caught in so much hate? Your fingertips touched over the worn, time faded, red and white picnic blanket.
What if he doesn't come home? Your thoughts crept up on you. It was your worst fear that you did not dare say out loud.
A precious yellow butterfly caught your attention and you admired its courage to remain gentle when the world carried unbelievable harshness. As it continued it's journey down the hill, your eyes were led to a man who was walking toward you from far away. He appeared to be wearing a soldier's uniform. He began to climb the hill and a light summertime wind fluttered the paper in his hand. Even from a distance, you knew. The tears that soaked your face spoke louder than any words of admittance you would not utter.
He is not coming home. Harry will never come home.
You pulled your knees to your chest and buried your face with blurred vision. You did not ever want to see a world without Harry in it. Your hands gripped tightly to the pale blue dress he had loved so dearly on you. You heard footsteps draw nearer and you knew that in a moment you would be told your most treacherous nightmare had become a reality. You tried to imagine his smile one more time before life would change for you forever. The way he crinkled his nose when you were right about something, the way his large hands enveloped your small ones but fit your fingers like puzzle pieces all the same, and mostly his beautiful green eyes. You cried even harder when you came to realize they would never twinkle again.
The footsteps had ended, and so had the time with the man you loved more than life itself. You could feel the old blanket move a bit as you knew the military messenger was knelt in front of you. You could not force yourself to look up.
"I didn't survive the war to see you cry." The deepest and most familiar voice said softly to you.
Your head flew up in disbelief.
Harry.
His still sparkling smile, and loving eyes were mere inches from you.
Without a second spared your arms clasped around his neck and you held him closer than ever before, fearing that soon you would wake up from some horrendous, hopeful dream. Harry tucked his head into your shoulder, and you felt his warm tears cascade down your collarbone. Sitting so closely knelt in front of each other, the bottom of your dress laid around you and onto the lap of Harry's uniform. He no longer had buttons that shone. His arms held you so near to him that if you had breath in that moment, you probably wouldn't have been able to breathe anyhow. Your hands pushed back on the thick material that covered his muscled shoulders so you would be able to see his face. His face was dirty and he had a new scar across his cheek beside his dimple.
"You almost didn't come home." You said raggedly.
Harry's response to this was a nose crinkle and a look in his eyes that had seen too much.
You were both smiling so much that kissing was nearly impossible, but love found a way. You kissed with such passion that he fell backward onto the grass with you on top of him. For the first time since the world became shadowed, both of you laughed.
"I wouldn't suppose there are any cookies in that basket?" Harry asked sweetly. You witnessed his eyes light up even more when he discovered there were.
For the rest of the afternoon, Harry laid with his head in your lap. You played with his hair, held his hand, and hummed to him while clouds drifted overhead. He was exhausted but evidently feared sleep. Though Harry had come home because of a miracle, there were a few pieces of him that did not return.
"It's so quiet." Harry whispered staring at the sky.
The note Harry had been holding was a letter he wrote for you in case something had happened to him. You never did read the letter. Instead, you placed it in a trunk with his ocean stained uniform. You hoped that one day, when generations had passed, when sounds of bombs didn't seem as real and the roar of a Spitfire had been retired from duty, someone would open the trunk. They would see the uniform of a survivor to represent the bravery of a man who never completely came home, the letter to prove fear of finality and love in times of darkness, the red and white picnic blanket to make them wonder who the hell the two of you were, and the favourite cookie recipe of the eventual unknown soldier.
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Please vote! It really does help:)
So I am re-making our imagine book into two separate books. This way if you want only Shawn, you can. And if you only want Harry, then you can do that too !
