Sebastian Stan Short Stories

Bucky Barnes [7]

"The Real Story Part 3"

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December, 1943, Manhattan

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Winter had always been cold in Indiana, but I was woefully unprepared for New York City in December. I tightened my coat around me, the buttons already stretched across a 7-month belly. My shoes let the cold through. My suitcase was obnoxiously heavy. And I felt lost.

It had taken a full month of writing to Rebecca Barnes-Proctor to figure out the logistics of my move. She too knew that James was missing in action; she regularly checked the casualty and fatality lists for her brother's name. After another shaky confessional via letter, she agreed to put me up in the house she shared with her husband.

I knocked on her door with a thinly gloved hand, and it was opened a few moments later. Rebecca was dressed just like I was under my coat. A dress and wool sweater, with matching wool tights. A baby on her hip completed the look.

"Hello," I said dumbly. She gave me a warm smile that held a family resemblance to her brother.

"You look freezing. Come in, come in," she urged. I made it through the doorway, and Rebecca shut the door tightly behind me. "With my husband out a Navy ship somewhere in the Pacific, the house is going to hell in a handbasket."

"Mama, that's a bad word," a little girl called out from the kitchen.

"That's Winnie," Rebecca told me. She knelt in the floor to put the baby in a play pen. "And that's Don, named after my father-in-law."

"They're beautiful children," I complimented.

"I assume you've got one on the way," she said warily, risking a glance at my stomach. I nodded and laid both hands on it. "Is it your husband's or..."

"I'm working under the assumption it's not my husband's. We'd been married long enough that if he was going to do the deed, it would've been done," I laughed weakly, attempting humor.

"How far along are you?"

"Seven months come end of December," I answered.

"Wouldn't it be exciting if you had a Valentine's day baby?" Rebecca asked happily. She had the same contagious smile as James, as well the Barnes family's dark hair and jaw.

"I hadn't even thought of that," I admitted. Rebecca began to say something else when there was a knock on the front door.

"Are you hoping for a boy or girl?" she continued, walking the same path to her door in socked feet.

"If I'm honest, a boy," I said. Rebecca opened the door with a smile, and it waivered as she took in the person or people on the other side. With a hand behind her back she motioned for me to join her.

"Please come in," she said calmly. Two soldiers, neither of them chaplains, slowly entered. "Winnie, come get your brother."

The young girl came into the room briefly, noticed the imposing men standing just inside the door, and gathered up her baby brother.

"Gentlemen, can I get you anything to drink? Please, have a seat," Rebecca offered. Neither of the soldiers did so, but I quickly found a seat on the sofa. Pregnancy did awful things to your feet and stamina.

"No, ma'am. Thank you though," the younger of the two said.

"Mrs. Proctor, we have news about your brother, Sergeant Barnes," the other said quickly. Rebecca and I looked at each other from across the room, and I smiled weakly.

"This is my brother's wife," she lied to the men. "I don't think their marriage certificate got to the Army before he shipped out to London and wherever the hell he was captured from."

"We understand," the first said. "I believe you were listed as his next of kin."

"Yes, I had a change of address since the last time I was visited by the Army," I told them.

"What's the news?" Rebecca demanded. She began to chew on the bottom of her lip, and it was only then that I noticed I had been gripping the hem of my dress tight enough to blanche my knuckles.

"Sergeant Barnes and his unit were located and freed by American forces," the elder soldier said. Rebecca's jaw dropped, and I was on my feet as fast as possible to hug her. She leaned in over my belly, and we both began to cry. After a few moments of horribly emotional celebrating, we separated and Rebecca began quizzing them again.

"Is he being given an honorable discharge? When is he coming home?" she asked.

"Sergeant Barnes will be offered an honorable discharge, but we can't force him to accept it unless he's injured, ma'am," one explained. "Of course, if he accepts it, he should be home soon enough."

"He could be home to see his baby," Rebecca whispered, gripping my hand.

"He doesn't know yet," I admitted. She questioned me silently and I explained. "I wrote him a letter about the baby. It was returned. Then two soldiers came and told me that he was captured. He doesn't know."

"Then we need a pen and paper right now."

*

Christmas Day, 1943, Somewhere in an Allied encampment

*

Somewhere in the trenches, men who were enemies the day before were braving the razor wire and muck to exchange what rations and entertainment they had. They're singing Christmas carols in one language and listening to them being sung in another. The guns were silent and the artillery was stilled. For many, war became just a little less hellish.

All over America, parents and spouses and children were praying for their soldiers and sailors and marines over a rationed Christmas dinner. Wives hoped their husbands were safe and warm, mothers hoped their sons were away from the firefights. Children hoped for a Christmas miracle.

In one particular camp, a young sergeant had made the decision to stay in the army for his best friend. What family did he have at home? Three younger siblings who were just fine without him.

But now he had a baby.

He gripped the letter like a lifeline, a tie to the woman he had left behind because he thought that was what she needed from him. Only to find out she was still rooting for him to come home so he could see the baby she was carrying for him.

The doctor said I should go into labor sometime in late February, but it could very well be early March. Rebecca is hoping for a Valentine's Day baby. I'm just hoping you'll be here. But if you stay to keep Steve out of trouble, make sure you do a good job. I'm so proud of you James. I'm living with Rebecca now, and I signed my divorce papers nearly a month ago. There isn't a doubt in my mind that this baby is yours, and I wouldn't want it any other way. As soon as he or she gets here, I'll have a picture made for you.

Stay safe, James. Come home to me.

He read every word she had written over and over again until he could see them when his eyes were closed. He could smell the faint scent of her perfume on the paper, and he hoped it wouldn't fade.

Only hours before, he thought his decision was the right one. Stay and fight. Now, he waivered. Now, he had more of a reason to go home and call it quits in the army. To go home, marry her, meet his baby, tell his war stories. But now, he had more of a reason to stay.

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Author's Note:

No, I definitely didn't cry writing this. Yes, that is definitely a lie.

I was going to wait and publish this later, but I really just can't wait. Also, good Lord, I'm nearly to 300 reads. I'm just going to keep thanking you all.