|Second in the Timeline Series|
For everyone else it's been seventy years since Sergeant James Barnes of the 107th was killed in action, for Clara it's been 2 seconds. Somehow she manages to pick up the pieces of her broken heart, stick them all tog...
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It was bitterly cold when Clara left the cafe. Her trip through time had left her a bit disorientated with specific dates, but she knew it was early November. As she walked through the silent streets of Brooklyn she found her feet taking her across a frost stretch of grass. She remembered it. Not from this time, but it looked the same. In the middle, not so far off from Clara, was a congregation of people and the vibrant red dots of poppies. The revered sound of the last post coming across the grass told her what date it was. She couldn't help but go over.
Most of the crowd were people her own age. Locals who had gathered to pay their respects and gratitude. At the front of the small crowd was an elderly woman in a wheelchair, standing behind her was preppy redhead about Clara's own age, who met her gaze. Her eyes narrowed as they fell upon Clara. Perhaps she recognised her as a S.H.I.E.L.D agent. Had HYDRA really got in so deep they could keep tabs on her when Clara herself didn't even know where she'd be? The ceremony was almost over so, to avoid detection, Clara wandered around the back of the gathering to a spot where the two women could no longer see her.
A short speech of commemoration was given and wreaths of poppies were laid at the foot of a humble memorial statue and then the crowd dispersed. In the gaps over people's shoulders she could see the old woman whisper to the young woman behind her, both of them were staring at Clara. Hastily, Clara turned to leave. She had walked no more than two paces before the perky redhead caught her by the arm.
"I'm so sorry to bother you," she humbled, turning Clara around with a small tug on her sleeve, "my grandmother recognised you. It's not too much to ask if you entertain her fancies. She's got dementia, you see. If you'd just play along I'd be so greatful."
Clara nodded, hardly able to say no. The old woman smiled at her weakly as Clara approached.
"You look so much like your grandmother." She croaked, wheezing as she strained to get her words out. "I'd been hoping I'd see her every day since the war was over. And every year since I'd moved here, I'd been going to this memorial service in the hopes of seeing her. It's silly, I know, but Clara and I were dear friends back in our day."
"Did you say Clara?"
"Yes dear. Clara Lewis, that's your grandmother isn't it? You look so similar I thought it just had to be!" The woman exclaimed, coughing at her exertion.
"Yes, that's me- my grandmother." Clara stammered.
"My name's Maggie Turner. Although your dear grandmother would know me as Maggie Jones. We were nurses together in the war. Did she tell you?"
"Oh yes. She told me all about you." Clara smiled. This was her Maggie! That sweet, bubbly girl that the war had managed not to destroy.
"Tell me, child." She said meekly. Clara leaned in to hear her better. "Did your dear grandmother ever marry that soldier. Sergeant Barnes if I remember correctly."
Of course Maggie would have remembered him. Clara couldn't bring herself to tell her the truth. She shook her head, blinking away a few stray tears and smiled bittersweetly, thinking about the life they could have had.
"No, he didn't return."
Maggie's hand flew to her heart, the other rested of Clara's arm.
"She would have very much liked to marry him. She never stopped thinking about him." Clara said.
"Is she still with us?" Maggie asked cautiously, "I'd very much like to meet her again."
Clara looked at her old friend. Those all too familiar green eyes had lost their spark and that wild red hair had long since greyed. And then she thought of herself. That girl from seventy years ago had died upon arrival.
"She's not with us anymore. She's moved on." Clara admitted although she wanted nothing more to go back to how things were, she had had to change.
"I'm sure she's in a better place. And where she is now," Maggie comforted, her tired eyes glazing over, "She's been reunited with her sergeant Barnes."
Clara smiled sadly as the young woman, Maggie's granddaughter, pushed the wheelchair away across the frosted grass. All that remained now was her, the immortalized nurse from the war, never having aged a day, and the blood red poppies to remind her of the people she'd had to leave behind. As she too crossed the grass, she didn't notice the reminiscence of the past watching her, concealed in the shadows of the trees, his metal arm folded across his chest.
Clara walked quickly through the park and down the sidewalk until she arrived back at her familiar apartment. Clara's hands trembled as she took out her keys and fit them in the lock. Her breath was escalating again. Her chest tightened with each shallow breath. Her hands just wouldn't co-operate as she fumbled again and again with the same key trying to jam it into the lock. She was so desperate to get inside where she could let the tears fall freely that she didn't see the strange man clad all in black, except for a silver sleeve on one arm follow her across the park and to her front door. He stood on the other side of the road and stopped to watch her struggle to open the door and slam it behind her in frustration as she finally managed to get inside.
Clara tossed her keys aggressively into the ceramic bowl on a cluttered chest of draws. Letters of rent demand and postcards from her dentist cluttered her hallway but Clara paid them no attention. She walked straight into her sitting room and slumped into an armchair in front of a long disused fireplace. Clara sat there motionless in silence as tears streamed down her face, her eyes never wandered from a faded black and white photograph of a world war two soldier who never returned...at least not the man she knew.
