Sebastian Stan Short Stories

Bucky Barnes [12]

"The Real Story Part 5"

January 1945

*

I stared at the dining room table and its completely paper covered surface. The oak really had been pretty, but now I could only see page after page of intercepted German encoded messages.

"Yes, Mommy is in very far over her head," I told my son. He too stared at the dining table, but it was far less interesting than the roasted and sliced carrots in front of him. "Your Aunt Peggy has a lot of faith in me."

I went back to my work decrypting the messages. These were the ones caught before the army could get to them and rerouted to SSR code breakers. Now it was my job to translate a message no longer than fifty words from cryptic German into regular German and then into English.

"Mommy needs more coffee," I told J.J. He smiled at me with an incomplete set of baby teeth, and I couldn't help but grin back. I stole one of his softened carrots and took it with me to get coffee. "Mommy also needs to stop narrating her day to day life, but I doubt that's going to happen."

I laughed at myself while I poured my coffee. Damn, I was out of coffee. I started back to the table but was stopped by the phone ringing.

"Hello? Barnes residence," I answered.

"I was hoping you'd be home," he said.

"James? Is that you?"

The phone nearly fell out of my hand in my excitement.

"It's me," he confirmed. My heart began pounding in my chest, and for a moment I worried he could hear it.

"How are you calling? I didn't think you could," I asked.

"We've got a pretty big mission coming up. Once it's over, I'm coming home," he told me. The line crackled but held steady after a few moments. "The higher ups arranged for us all to call home."

"How long do you have?"

"I'm not sure. They might have tapped into a line they weren't supposed to touch," he laughed. J.J. began babbling to himself in the next room.

"Stay right here," I told my husband. I jogged into the dining room, nearly knocked a stack of discarded ciphers to the floor, and lifted J.J. out of his high chair. "Come on, let's go talk to Daddy."

I carried him quickly back to the phone on the wall and picked up the receiver again.

"I'm back. Someone wanted to talk to you," I told James. "Or at least hear you. He hasn't gotten the hang of talking just yet."

I moved the phone closer to J.J. and he began trying to chew on the phone, gurgling and trying his best to mimic me. As James began talking to him, his eyes widened and he began cooing.

"His first birthday is coming up," I told James after I had put the phone back to my ear.

"I want to be there," he told me. His voice became darker, more unsure. "I can't make any promises."

"How dangerous is this mission, James? Please be honest with me," I implored. He was quiet. "Please."

"Dangerous enough that they gave us each a call home," he said carefully. I could hear the way his voice wavered. It scared me.

"Please be careful. Make Steve watch out for you for once," I joked. There was a tear on my cheek, which J.J. noticed and began reaching for helpfully.

"He hardly lets me out of his sight," he reassured me. "I got your message from Peggy, way back when. We've officially been married a year, Mrs. Barnes, and when I get home we're going on a honeymoon. Start thinking about where you want to go."

"We don't have to go anywhere, James. Besides, we have a baby. We're supposed to be responsible," I laughed halfheartedly. 

"How about this? A family trip for the three of us, then somewhere for just us two," he schemed. There was a smile in his voice again.

"That sounds a bit more responsible," I agreed. "Did you get his Christmas pictures?"

"I carry them with me everywhere. There's not a single person in this camp that hasn't seen a picture of my son in that terrible sweater," he told me.

"I won't tell Rebecca you said that. She was proud of that sweater," I teased. I was still crying at the sound of his voice, but with a love struck grin on my face. 

"Don't tell her I called you either. I want to surprise her," he confided in me.

"I won't," I said. There was more static on the line, heavier than before. I heard more voices on his end, then he was back.

"We're about to leave. I need to go," he told me.

"Okay. Please be careful, James," I begged.

"I will. I promise. I love you," he said.

"I love you too," I answered hurriedly. "Come home to me."

The line was already dead by the time I finished speaking.

*

They shipped what was left of him home in a wooden foot locker. There was no body to bury, so there was no funeral to attend. Just a memorial. I stood next to Peggy and together we mourned the men we had loved and lost.

When it came time for me to deal with his effects, I gave J.J. to Rebecca for the day and locked myself in my home.

His name was stenciled across the top in plain black letters. A service number underneath that. I unlocked the box with the key given to me by an army chaplain, and I began to cry. I wouldn't stop for nearly two days.

The smell of his uniforms, olive drab and neatly folded, permeated the house. Wood smoke, gunpowder, winter. His dress uniform was delivered in its own box, having been hardly worn for two years. I didn't want to look at it and be transported back to the Indiana farmhouse where it all started.

He had kept journals while he was there. My letters to him were tucked into the pages, along with pictures of the men he served with. There was Steve. A Frenchmen. A man nicknamed Dum Dum. There were entire pages devoted to myself and, later, to his son. Lists of the things he wanted to do or see or say when he returned.

No matter where I looked in the box, I couldn't find any of the dozens of pictures I had sent him. He really had kept them with him. He had died with us by his side.

But amongst the uniforms and government issued gear, next to the journals and a slightly mishandled camera, were letters sealed in fresh envelopes. None had addresses, but each had a recipient. To Rebecca, to Steve, to my son, to my wife.

I carefully opened the envelope with a pocket knife from the trunk. A picture fell out before I was able to remove the letter and landed face down on the floor. I read the note on the back.

One more picture to get you by until I can see you again.

*

Author's Note:

I'd be a dirty liar if I said I didn't cry when I wrote this. I'm sorry.

On a more positive note, we're up to 2,000 reads! I feel like I should pinch myself; this is such a young story. I look forward to many more additions and readers. Thank you all so much.

And on yet another high note (which may be needed after such a heavy chapter), the first three chapters of my full length Sebastian story have been edited and finalized. I'd still like to have more done before posting, but hopefully that happens soon.