Page 105 of We'll Meet Again

“I swear I’ve heard that name before. Has she got any family around?”

“The box came from a friend of a distant relative, but we couldn’t find any direct descendants or anything like that. Seems the poor woman was alone most of her life.”

“How sad…” Billie trailed off.

“Just go through and see what you can find that’s in good condition, and we can probably use it,” Tessa said. “When you’re finished, let me know, and I’ll bring you another box.”

Billie gave her a thumbs up.

At the top of the box was a file containing Maggie’s official documents. According to her birth certificate, she was born Margaret Ann Meadowes on November 1, 1919. Funnily enough, she was born at the same hospital Billie was. In 1939, Maggie volunteered for the Women’s Land Army, and moved to Aldbourne to work at an orchard outside the village. Billie learned from an attorney’s notice that within her first year at the farm, Maggie’s parents were killed in an air raid in London. Their family home was destroyed as well. Billie’s heart sank to think someone so young could lose so much. It appeared she was an only child as well, so she carried her grief alone.

Among the documents, Billie also found Maggie’s marriage license, which raised her spirits a little. In July of 1944, Maggie married an American paratrooper named Henry Franklin Owens. Billie looked around, but found no other birth certificates, so the couple must not have had any children.

Beneath the file was a smaller box, tied up with a red ribbon. The worn edges and ripped upper right hand corner showed the age of it. Gingerly, Billie tugged the ribbon loose and took the top off the box. Inside was a massive stack of letters, all with Henry listed as the recipient. There was no physical address on them, just his name and the year. With a half-smile, she noticed Maggie wrote her y’s with the same tail as Billie did. Curious, she flipped the stack over to the bottom, and found a different scenario. Going back to 1944, just before the D-Day invasion of Normandy, there was a letter from Henry to Maggie at the address of the farm in Aldbourne.

Carefully as she could, she opened the fragile envelope and pulled the letter out.Dear Maggie, it began, and with a sharp pang, she noticed Henry wrote his ie’s with the same loop connecting them that Ethan did when he wrote her little notes. The first couple of lines were about the weather, but as she read on, nearly swooning at how romantic this Henry guy was, one line in particular made her suck in a quiet breath -I declare, you could bring a man to his knees with your kisses.

I declare.Just like Ethan used to say.

She shook her head. Henry was probably also from the South, where plenty of people used that phrase, especially in his time. She pressed on.

The letters had the kind of romance usually only found in fiction, though with authentic simplicity between two such people. Henry was sweet, funny, and apparently an incredible dancer. Maggie was devoted to him, and generous with her love. She frequently wrote to Henry about the things she and the other girls got into - and they were quite the shenanigans for the 1940s - and Henry always told her how much the stories cheered him up wherever he was. The words felt so familiar, like Billie had read them in a book or seen them in a movie, but she couldn’t quite place it.

Remarkably, it didn’t pain her much to read them either. At first, she expected this kind of tooth-rotting sweetness to increase her own heartbreak tenfold, but she found it more comforting than anything.

There was a brief break in the letters between July and September of 1944, when Henry was back from France, and they got married. Then he shipped out again to Holland. In November of that year, Henry’s letters slowed, though Maggie continued writing dutifully. By December, his letters stopped altogether. And from January 1945, Billie found a letter that was from neither Henry nor Maggie.

She stopped herself halfway into reaching for it. Her heart rate quickened and she found herself suddenly cold. This letter loomed before her like a mysterious locked door, and she was afraid of what she’d find on the other side of it. She wasn’t sure how, but she knew it would hurt her. Hand trembling, she picked it up anyway.

Mrs. Margaret Owens, it began, and Billie gulped.I regret to inform you that your husband, Sergeant Henry Franklin Owens, was killed in action…

Billie dropped the letter like a hot plate. Her heart slammed against her chest. It was the letter from her dream. She knew it not by its content, but by the overwhelming devastation it brought. All consuming grief washed over her from her head to her toes, so heavy she was certain she was drowning. The room swam around her as her eyes welled up.

Memories flooded to the forefront of her mind, clear and vivid, passing over her vision like a beloved film. Henry getting her - or Maggie, rather - close to him by playing keep away with her basket of fruit from the orchard. Sitting on Henry’s lap, staring into his stunning green eyes while his mouth kicked up into a smile, with precious dimples on each side. Twirling into Henry’s arms while a jazz band played on the radio, Vera Lynn’s voice warbling through the speaker.We’ll meet again, don’t know where, don’t know when, but I know we’ll meet again some sunny day…

Billie squeezed her eyes shut. It didn’t make sense. How did she have Maggie’s memories? How did she even know that they were Maggie’s? Why did Henry look so much like Ethan? She shook her head.

When she opened her eyes again, her sitting room came back into focus. She was breathing hard. The letter was on the floor between her legs, but she didn’t pick it up. She sprang to her feet and looked into the box. A few other boxes were stacked up inside and she grabbed the first one. Beneath it was…glass?

Curious, Billie picked up the remaining smaller boxes and placed them on the coffee table. At the bottom was a shadow box which contained a stunning, silk wedding dress in pristine condition. The one Henry had sent her his reserve chute to make, according to the letters. Billie’s heart was so soft now it could have been fondue. She ran a hand over the glass casing, wondering what that dress must have felt like on the bride.

Which reminded her what she’d gone looking for - pictures.

She had to see, toknow. The first smaller box she opened contained trinkets, and - she almost stopped breathing - Maggie’s wedding ring. The second one had more letters, but a quick glance told her they were from friends - she recognized a few names as the other Land Girls Maggie worked with on the farm. The third box had what she needed.

Right at the top was the wedding portrait. Billie sucked in a sharp breath. There in black and white, smiling back at her, was her own face.

It was beyond resemblance, it wasidentical. From her hairline to her chin, not a freckle was out of place. The arch of her eyebrows, the curve of her nose, the length of her jaw - every feature was the same. She was certain that if the photo was in color, she’d find the same shade of blue in her eyes and pink on her lips.

She turned her eyes to Henry, and found what she expected - the exact image of Ethan. His hair was combed neatly back and covered with a garrison cap, but that darling, darling smile was unmistakable. There they were, in another life.

And Billie smiled.

It all made sense now. Ofcourseshe was afraid of loss, she had lost her whole family once before. Ofcourseshe didn’t give her heart to just anyone, she was holding out until she found him again. And ofcourseit scared her when she did because he had been taken from her the last time.

Billie went back to the letters, flipping through the ones Maggie had written after Henry’s death. She continued to write to him, and from what Billie could glean after skimming the contents, they were more like diary entries, they were just…to Henry. Maggie, in her heart, had kept him updated on everything in her life. She never fell in love or married again, and in 1994, she told him that she was diagnosed with cancer, and was refusing treatment.

My love, she wrote.It is time I joined you.

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