by Selena Kitt
Turning onto her side, her hand tucked under her pillow, she drifted into sleep. Her dreams placed her on the lap of a certain Army major whose arms were wrapped tightly around her. Softly whispered words assured her that though she'd been a naughty girl, she was his girl. Her hand slipped from beneath her pillow to rub against her bottom cheek as if to soothe away the ache caused by a spanking. When the phantom Jack bent to place a kiss on top of her curls, she smiled and snuggled closer, never feeling more cherished.
Chapter Three
Jack fingered the letters he'd just received at mail call. The hoots and catcalls from his fellow soldiers at the lingering floral fragrance and the soft violet color of one envelope didn't bother him at all. His lips curved into a grin as he imagined Jane perhaps deciding that pretty stationery could dissuade him from what she believed were his terribly old-fashioned beliefs. The next possibility had his grin disappearing. Was the perfume supposed to soften the blow as she broke off further correspondence because as a modern woman who felt the need to live her life as she saw fit she was informing him that he was nothing more than a Neanderthal and she had no desire to pursue a relationship?
"What does she say?"
Jack looked up as he entered the building housing the officers to see Bill Walton in the common area.
"Don't know yet. What's in the tube?"
Bill grinned, giving a wolf-whistle as he unrolled the poster. "Just a little something to brighten my quarters."
Jack shook his head at the photo of Marilyn Monroe in what he considered far too revealing clothing. As other men gathered around Bill to admire the poster, Jack sighed. Perhaps in today's world he was expecting too much from a woman. He'd seen other posters in the barracks, depicting starlets such as Betty Grable, Ava Gardner, and Marie McDonald. He had to admit the alluring pin-up girls did tend to bolster a man's flagging spirits with their sexy poses, all wearing nothing but a swimsuit and a smile. Hollywood might be doing their share to remind men what they were fighting for, but Jack wasn't buying their claim that these women represented the 'All-American Girl Next Door'. Besides, those weren't the only posters he'd seen.
With the enlistment of so many men, gaping holes in industrial jobs needed to be filled. Even his own government was encouraging women to throw off their aprons and join the workforce. Rosie the Riveter with her red and white polka-dotted kerchief and her curled arm showing her bulging bicep told women that 'We Can Do It'. And women were proving that indeed they could. While he appreciated their efforts, he admitted that he wanted his future wife to allow her husband to 'do it' and to know that he considered it his honor to support her. And he didn't mean simply to put a roof over her head, food in her stomach, or clothes on her back. No, he wanted a woman who needed him on a much deeper level. His wife would know that even though she might contribute to the family coffers, when she stepped out of line, she'd be flipped over his knee to have her bottom warmed. Of course, once her punishment was done, he would make sure she knew exactly how much he loved her as they shared the endless pleasures possible between a husband and his wife.
He'd not wish for his wife to work once their children came along. Having been raised as the oldest of ten children, he knew that raising kids was quite possibly the most demanding job on earth. Hell, he thought leading battalions of men into battle had to be easier than trying to get ten children up, dressed, fed, and off to school on a daily basis. Once a battle was over, soldiers were generally allowed at least a short reprieve. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd seen his mom having nothing better to do than to sit with her feet up and a book that had words instead of pictures on her lap.
No, he would not have his wife coming home and having to deal with the everyday needs of their children, too exhausted from some job to enjoy time with her husband once the kids were asleep. Both parents working might be fine for some couples, but he was stitched from a different cloth. Call him a Neanderthal, but that was just the way it was going to be.
Jack grabbed a cup of coffee and retired to his room. It was time to find out exactly how Jane had responded to his last letter.
Sliding his knife under the flap, he allowed himself one last pause to enjoy the fantasy that she would state she had given up all other men for him. Remembering reading her tales of movies, carnivals, long walks, and romantic dinners in the company of various men, he knew that was highly unlikely. Still, he couldn't find it within himself to regret deciding that he needed to know her thoughts on whether she saw them having a real future together. That was the reason for the purposely firmly worded letter and his thinly veiled promise of a spanking if she didn't toe the line. He admitted he was getting tired of the dating game. What he truly desired was to find the one woman who was able to stir his heart as well as his soul every time he opened a letter to read her words, thoughts, and dreams. Sighing, he slid the folded stationery free.
Dearest Jack,
How does a girl respond to such a firm letter as the one I have before me? Shall I simply pretend that I am too naïve to understand your words? Shall I giggle and remind you told me that you are a huge fan of baseball? I've enclosed a clipping from the newspaper about the All-American Girls League—teams that have become quite popular while you big, strong men are away. It seems that it is becoming quite common for a female to play the game and run the bases.
Or shall I confess that your thinly veiled promise to turn me over your knees and attend to my naughtiness with a firm hand has my heart pounding, my tummy fluttering and my unmentionables… Forgive me, I just remembered that my sharing of what lies beneath my lingerie is what earned me such a reprimand in the first place.
To use your own turn of phrase, while I can't speak for all women, I fear that the lack of strong, stern men in my small town has led to a bit of naughtiness in its female inhabitants. I can only wonder if our servicemen are quite prepared to handle their women with firm and loving guidance or if perhaps our sudden interest in baseball will continue. For now, all I can do is promise to keep my feet firmly planted on home plate until a certain US Army Major makes his feelings crystal clear.
In answer to your question, sir, I too wish to have a future which includes love and guidance. My question to you, Major Jackson Sommersby, is are you truly wishing to step up to the plate and 'play ball' or, Sir, are you the sort who is all bluster, who threatens to take your bat and go home when faced with a bit of trouble?
As always, I pray my letter finds you safe and well. I can't even imagine the difficulties you face so far away from home. I listen to the radio and hear of things that make my heart hurt. Do you enjoy reading as I do? Whether it is a book or a radio program, I pray that you have some escape from this awful war if only for a little while. I hope you know that your family must be so incredibly proud of the service you continue to do for our country. May God keep you safe from all harm until you return to Texas.
With my affection,
Jane
PS: The ball is now in your court, sir. I shall eagerly await your pitch.
An imprint of a pair of pursed lips was beneath the signature. What the hell? Jack actually looked at the face of the envelope to assure himself that he was the intended recipient. Yes, it was his name on the front and the return address was one he could rattle off from memory. Though it was signed with a name he was accustomed to seeing, there was something definitely off about this letter. The Jane he knew might wish him well, but she'd never mentioned loving to read, nor included tidbits as innocent as hoping he also had some form of escape from the impact of the war. Rereading it did nothing to change his mind. He simply couldn't picture a woman who spoke of kisses and supposedly accidental fondling would sit by a radio, listening to news that made her heart hurt. In fact, his suspicions grew and he opened his desk drawer, removed a stack of letters and slid one free. Placing the two side by side, it took him but a moment to discover his thoughts had proved correct.
Not only had the stationery changed, the penmanship had as well.
While he had a stack of letters with the writing slanting to the left, this newest missive had the letters slanting to the right with a great deal more loops and swirls. Was that an actual little heart drawn above the letter 'i' in affection? Though unnecessary, he flipped the stack of letters over and rifled through them until he found the one he remembered. Placing the envelope alongside the purple stationery, he compared the two imprints of what signified the letter having been sealed with a kiss. Again, the difference was obvious. Whoever had written this latest little note was definitely not named Jane Kennedy. The question was, who had assumed her identity, and why? He didn't need to be seated in the bleachers of a game to instantly understand the reference to running the bases. He heard his own men boasting of knocking it out of the park, rounding third and heading for home on countless occasions.
Allowing his mind to ponder, he opened his other letter and read it quickly. Was this some type of joke? If so, the fake Jane was certainly a little minx and he found his palm itching again. Could this stranger truly wish to find a man to take her in hand? Well, there was only one way to find out. Sweeping the letters from the real Jane into the drawer, he spotted a card. Pulling it out, he grinned and reached for his pad.
"Okay, little minx, shall we play ball?" he asked as he put pen to paper.
Chapter Four
Two weeks later, Betsy walked into the house and dropped a stack of magazines into Jane's lap. She settled on the couch and flipped through the remaining mail, setting aside bills that they would both go over before paying. Hearing Jane groan, she looked up. "What's wrong? Have fashions changed again?"
"Ha-ha, no, it's nothing like that. It's this," Jane said, waving an envelope in the air.
"What's that? I don't remember seeing any letters in the post."
"It was stuck between Vogue and Life. I seriously believed he'd understand that I had no desire to continue our correspondence," she said after looking at the letter.
"What do you mean?" Betsy asked.
"Mr. Bossy. I wrote him a letter and mailed it the day after I got his last. I told him that though Joe was no longer my beau, I am beginning a relationship with Patrick."
"Oh no!" Betsy said, dropping into the chair.
"You are too sweet, honey. You worry about everyone but I can assure you that the major will move on and find a woman far better suited for him."
"No, you don't understand," Betsy said, "I… you told me to write to him, and…"
"There, you see. He already has another pen-pal and, if I'm honest, I must say you two are far better suited than he and I ever were."
"Why didn't you tell me?" Betsy wailed.
"What difference does it make? You can keep writing—"
"I can't!"
"Why not? Are you getting serious about someone and not telling me?"
"No! But Jac… I mean Major Sommersby thinks that you do want a relationship."
"No he doesn't," Jane countered. "I specifically told him that I wouldn't be writing to him again. I suppose he could have written to me before receiving my letter, but I assure you, nothing he could say will change my mind."
Betsy dropped her face in her hands at the sight of Jane sliding her fingernail beneath the flap. Her heart pounded as she tried to figure out a way to set her friend straight. It turned out to be totally unnecessary.
"Oh my," Jane said and then giggled. "Tell me, Betsy, were you a naughty girl?"
"What do you mean?" Betsy asked, though she feared she already knew the reason for the question.
"Did you write to Mr. Bossy?"
"Of course I did! You told me to!"
Jane laughed again and shook her head. "I didn't tell you to pretend you were me. Honey, did you really think a man who has earned the title of major couldn't discern that your letter couldn't be from me?" Scanning the page, she continued to offer an occasional giggle. "My, my, you actually kissed the paper? What color lipstick were you wearing?"
Betsy just moaned, her face once more buried in her hands as Jane continued to read. "Ah, Bets, honey, you are just too cute, but I fear you've met your match." She broke into full laughter as she reached the end. "Oh, my, when I educated you about baseball, I certainly didn't expect you to repeat it!"
"Oh God, I'm so sorry! I promise to write immediately and confess that it wasn't you."
Sliding the letter back into its envelope, Jane smiled again, only then looking at the addressee. "I don't believe that will be necessary." Leaning forward, she dropped the letter into Betsy's lap, tapping her red polished nail against the name on the front of the airmail envelope. "Read it yourself, Miss Minx, and I suggest you get ready to have your bottom reddened." Sitting back, Jane flipped open her magazine while Betsy sat unmoving as if the envelope were a viper ready to strike at the smallest movement. After flipping two more pages, Jane spoke again. "Relax, Bets, any man who has the ability to address a letter as he has and even bothered to respond has got to have a good sense of humor. I'm pretty certain he doesn't bite, and I meant it when I said I think you two are a perfect match. Why don't you give him a chance?"
Betsy slowly reached for the letter.
Dear Little Minx,
This time I feel no need to explain my salutation.
You asked me about being able to escape at least for a bit. The Brits are quite accommodating in their prolific attempts to both inform and uplift soldiers fighting against the forces of what can only be considered as evil. While Hitler shouts of his desire for world dominance, the British cinema shows a film titled, 'Miss Grant Goes to the Door'. I applaud their efforts in attempting to instruct citizens how to recognize a German spy. Why do I mention such a film? Could being repeatedly exposed to it make a soldier question such innocent things as a blonde strand of hair clinging to the glue of sealed envelope or the shape of a pair of lips pressed against paper?
When not watching a film, the fellas and I prefer to gather in the common area to listen to 'It's That Man Again', an extremely popular radio show. Listening to skits and hearing jokes bring our spirits up.
The reason I mention the above is that I must ask forgiveness for my lateness in thanking you for the lovely Christmas card and the box of cookies you sent several months ago. While I shared the cookies one night while the broadcast was on, I kept the card to myself. Though I knew instantly that the letter wasn't from Jane, it wasn't the difference in penmanship that was the final clue. It was the little heart above your closing that gave you away. The same sweet doodle from your Christmas wishes was your downfall, my dear Miss Betsy Riddle.
As for Jane, would you please convey my best wishes for her future… whatever choice she makes. I admire her ability to stand firm for what she knows her heart desires, and thank her for her honesty in her letter.
As for myself, I wish to be clear from the start. I am a man who knows what he wants in a relationship, and wishes only to find a woman who desires the same. While I abhor deceit, I am hoping you only felt the need for it because you were too shy to admit that you might be that woman, Miss Riddle. You asked if I were ready to step up to the plate and my answer is yes. Your concern and caring are just part of what makes me believe that you have a very big heart.
I'll close with this. I've pitched the ball and admit I hope you not only catch it but feel the desire to toss it my way again. I will be looking for a pretty purple envelope and look forward to learning more about the real Betsy even knowing that I'm afraid my itchy palm will only be soothed with a swat to your naughty behind.
Sincerely,
Jack
PS: I am indeed a fan of baseball. However, young lady, unless you are playing in an official league, know that I am definitely not a fan of my girl running the bases without me at her side. I'd far rather take you to the ballpark and share a box of Cracker Jacks. I promise the games played between one man and one woman will be those of pleasure on our own, private playing field.
"That's three," Jane said.
"Hmm… did you say something?"
"I'm just wondering how many times you plan on reading that letter. It took me what… a minute to read?" Jane said.
"I can't believe he actually wrote back," Betsy said, lifting her eyes from the sheet. "I mean, wouldn't most men be furious that someone attempted to dupe them?"
Jane closed her magazine and untucked her legs from beneath her as she leaned forward. "I imagine a great deal would be, but the fact that Jack isn't tells me that he is a good man."
"Good enough that you are considering…"
"No," Jane said, reaching forward to pat Betsy's arm. "Tell me, why did you really feel compelled to write to a total stranger who you knew was writing to me?" When Betsy began to answer, Jane shook her head. "Don't give me some baloney about not wishing to hurt his feelings. He's a grown man and I'm sure he's not a stranger to life's little hurts. Be honest, Betsy."
Betsy leaned against the back of the sofa and composed her thoughts. If she couldn't be honest with Jane, whom could she trust with her feelings? "I'm not sure exactly but from the moment I read his letter, something pulled at me. All of a sudden I realized that I have been writing to men who treated me like their kid sister. God, I don't want a boy, Jane, I want a man." Meeting Jane's eyes, she continued. "And it might be old-fashioned, and you probably think I'm crazy, but I want a man who is willing to step up and be in control. Does that make any sense at all?"
"Yes, it does," Jane assured her. "Honey, you have always been more interested in hearth and home than I have. You'll make some man a wonderful wife and be a fantastic mother. Don't be ashamed of those desires, Betsy. I'm not ashamed of the fact that I wish to travel and see the world before I ever tie myself down." She moved to sit next to Betsy, drawing her into a hug. "Neither is a wrong choice… it is just a choice. Though, again, I might remind you that your choices could land you over a certain major's knees."