Scarecrow and Mrs. King
"The Second Time"
Written by Anne Riener
A Matthew and Jennie Stetson one-shot
"The Second Time"
Written by Anne Riener
A Matthew and Jennie Stetson one-shot
The last remnants of the air-raid siren all-clear echoed through the otherwise quiet London neighborhood. Bone-weary citizens came out of the shelters filing through the streets on their way home. Jennifer Hamilton was happy to see her basement flat had not been damaged during the latest bombing raid by German forces. She opened the door and collapsed onto the davenport, too tired to get undressed and too tired to make it to her bed. A cloud of sleep soon enveloped her.
Tap-Tap-Tap.
She rolled over trying to ignore the noise only to hear the tapping grow a little louder. She sat up trying to figure out the source of the sound. Turning toward the window, she saw a man. She was startled for a moment, until she recognized the pair of hazel eyes that belonged to the young man dressed in a U.S. Army uniform. With his index finger, he beckoned her to come toward him. Jennie walked over to the window and opened it just a crack.
“You!” she proclaimed, defensively.
He pressed his nose and mouth between the frame and the window, his face squished against the glass. “May I come in?”
“You certainly may not. What is it you want?”
His jaw clenched and he spoke through gritted teeth, “You didn’t do what I asked.”
“What you asked was impossible.” She folded her arms across her chest and narrowed her eyes. “I did try to deliver the letter, but no one would let me in at Ten Downing Street.”
“Listen, Miss Hamilton, just give me back the letter and you can forget all about this and me.”
“How do you know my name?”
“I have my ways.” He shrugged one shoulder. “Now, may I please have it?”
“Well. . .” she began, then she noticed the neighbor across the street, looking out the window. “It would appear we have twitchy curtains. And no, it’s not here.”
“Oh, for the love of Pete!” He growled in frustration. She watched him run both his hands through his unruly hair. Taking a deep breath, he waved to the neighbor, who quickly closed the curtains. He then handed her a business card. “Here’s my card. Give me a call when you have it and meet me at Stein Hall.”
She turned the card over, reading, 'Major Matthew D. Stetson.' Looking up again, she noticed he was gone.
“That man has the worst manners,” she said under her breath, shaking her head.
*****
After Jennie had walked into the dance hall, she promptly glanced around the smoke-filled room. There was a band in the far corner playing music and several couples dancing in front. She noticed several U.S. servicemen sitting at tables and the counter, but did not see the man she was supposed to meet. Walking over to the bar, she sat down.
The bartender laid down a napkin on the counter, asking, “What can I get you, Miss?”
“I’ll have a white wine, please.”
The bartender nodded and left.
She took off her gloves, placing them inside her purse. Jennie then took out her compact and quickly checked her makeup, then hastily powdered her nose.
The bartender returned with her drink, placing it down in front of her.
“Let me,” she heard a voice say, before the man paid the bartender. Jennie tilted her head and looked up in stunned amazement.
“Mr. Stetson,” she startled, taking a moment to study him closer. She had to admit, he wasn't half-bad for a Yank and quite dapper dressed in his olive drab service uniform.
“It’s Matthew, Miss Hamilton.” Smiling widely, he held out his hand.
She returned his handshake. “Hello, Matthew. I’m Jennie.”
“Jennie. Would you care to dance?” He tilted his head questionably toward the dance floor.
She contemplated his request for a second, but was drawn in again by his hazel-green eyes. There was a twinkle of amusement in them and tiny dimples now appeared on his cheeks. Taking the plunge, she replied, “I’d love to.”
She slipped her arm into his and allowed Matthew to lead her to the center of the room. He held her close in his arms as they danced, pressed cheek to cheek. She could feel his warm breath at her ear, and she shivered. The band was playing ‘We’ll Meet Again.’ She hummed along with the tune.
After the song ended, both Matthew and Jennie clapped, showing their appreciation to the band. Matthew then led her back toward the bar. They both sat down and Matthew grabbed the attention of the bartender.
“Scotch on the rocks.”
“Yes, Sir." He turned his attention to Jennie. "Another white wine for the lady?”
“I’m good,” Jennie answered, placing her hand over the glass.
The bartender fixed Matthew’s drink and placed it down in front of him. After paying the bartender, Matthew leaned over to her, speaking softly, “Do you have my letter?”
Taking the letter out of her purse, she handed it to him. “Is what’s inside really a matter of life and death?”
He gave a firm nod. "Yes."
She studied him for a moment, watching him throw back his drink. “Who are you?”
“I'm Major Matthew Stetson, U.S. Armed Forces.”
She shook her head, determinedly. “No, you’re more. What are you?”
He eyed her up and down. “I guess you deserve the truth, but only if you can promise not to mention me or this conversation to anyone.”
“Yes, I promise.” She took another sip of wine.
Matthew’s finger danced around the rim of his glass. He looked around the room, before whispering, “I’m Military Intelligence.”
“Are you telling me you're a spy? Funny, you don’t look like a spy.”
He arched an eyebrow. “And what is a spy supposed to look like?”
She shrugged lightly. “You know, wearing a trench coat and a fedora.”
“I’m a spy, not a private eye.” His lips twitched into a faint smile. “Well, I guess this is goodbye, Jennie.” He took her hand, placing a gentle kiss on her wrist, and then winked.
She smiled shyly as blush rose to her cheeks. “Will I ever see you again?”
He shook his head regretfully. Matthew then tipped his hat to her and headed toward the front door of the dance hall.
“You'll be careful then, won't you?” Jennie called out to him, after he had slipped out the door.
With a quick wave of his hand, Jennie watched his retreating form disappear into the thick, icy mist.
Tap-Tap-Tap.
She rolled over trying to ignore the noise only to hear the tapping grow a little louder. She sat up trying to figure out the source of the sound. Turning toward the window, she saw a man. She was startled for a moment, until she recognized the pair of hazel eyes that belonged to the young man dressed in a U.S. Army uniform. With his index finger, he beckoned her to come toward him. Jennie walked over to the window and opened it just a crack.
“You!” she proclaimed, defensively.
He pressed his nose and mouth between the frame and the window, his face squished against the glass. “May I come in?”
“You certainly may not. What is it you want?”
His jaw clenched and he spoke through gritted teeth, “You didn’t do what I asked.”
“What you asked was impossible.” She folded her arms across her chest and narrowed her eyes. “I did try to deliver the letter, but no one would let me in at Ten Downing Street.”
“Listen, Miss Hamilton, just give me back the letter and you can forget all about this and me.”
“How do you know my name?”
“I have my ways.” He shrugged one shoulder. “Now, may I please have it?”
“Well. . .” she began, then she noticed the neighbor across the street, looking out the window. “It would appear we have twitchy curtains. And no, it’s not here.”
“Oh, for the love of Pete!” He growled in frustration. She watched him run both his hands through his unruly hair. Taking a deep breath, he waved to the neighbor, who quickly closed the curtains. He then handed her a business card. “Here’s my card. Give me a call when you have it and meet me at Stein Hall.”
She turned the card over, reading, 'Major Matthew D. Stetson.' Looking up again, she noticed he was gone.
“That man has the worst manners,” she said under her breath, shaking her head.
*****
After Jennie had walked into the dance hall, she promptly glanced around the smoke-filled room. There was a band in the far corner playing music and several couples dancing in front. She noticed several U.S. servicemen sitting at tables and the counter, but did not see the man she was supposed to meet. Walking over to the bar, she sat down.
The bartender laid down a napkin on the counter, asking, “What can I get you, Miss?”
“I’ll have a white wine, please.”
The bartender nodded and left.
She took off her gloves, placing them inside her purse. Jennie then took out her compact and quickly checked her makeup, then hastily powdered her nose.
The bartender returned with her drink, placing it down in front of her.
“Let me,” she heard a voice say, before the man paid the bartender. Jennie tilted her head and looked up in stunned amazement.
“Mr. Stetson,” she startled, taking a moment to study him closer. She had to admit, he wasn't half-bad for a Yank and quite dapper dressed in his olive drab service uniform.
“It’s Matthew, Miss Hamilton.” Smiling widely, he held out his hand.
She returned his handshake. “Hello, Matthew. I’m Jennie.”
“Jennie. Would you care to dance?” He tilted his head questionably toward the dance floor.
She contemplated his request for a second, but was drawn in again by his hazel-green eyes. There was a twinkle of amusement in them and tiny dimples now appeared on his cheeks. Taking the plunge, she replied, “I’d love to.”
She slipped her arm into his and allowed Matthew to lead her to the center of the room. He held her close in his arms as they danced, pressed cheek to cheek. She could feel his warm breath at her ear, and she shivered. The band was playing ‘We’ll Meet Again.’ She hummed along with the tune.
After the song ended, both Matthew and Jennie clapped, showing their appreciation to the band. Matthew then led her back toward the bar. They both sat down and Matthew grabbed the attention of the bartender.
“Scotch on the rocks.”
“Yes, Sir." He turned his attention to Jennie. "Another white wine for the lady?”
“I’m good,” Jennie answered, placing her hand over the glass.
The bartender fixed Matthew’s drink and placed it down in front of him. After paying the bartender, Matthew leaned over to her, speaking softly, “Do you have my letter?”
Taking the letter out of her purse, she handed it to him. “Is what’s inside really a matter of life and death?”
He gave a firm nod. "Yes."
She studied him for a moment, watching him throw back his drink. “Who are you?”
“I'm Major Matthew Stetson, U.S. Armed Forces.”
She shook her head, determinedly. “No, you’re more. What are you?”
He eyed her up and down. “I guess you deserve the truth, but only if you can promise not to mention me or this conversation to anyone.”
“Yes, I promise.” She took another sip of wine.
Matthew’s finger danced around the rim of his glass. He looked around the room, before whispering, “I’m Military Intelligence.”
“Are you telling me you're a spy? Funny, you don’t look like a spy.”
He arched an eyebrow. “And what is a spy supposed to look like?”
She shrugged lightly. “You know, wearing a trench coat and a fedora.”
“I’m a spy, not a private eye.” His lips twitched into a faint smile. “Well, I guess this is goodbye, Jennie.” He took her hand, placing a gentle kiss on her wrist, and then winked.
She smiled shyly as blush rose to her cheeks. “Will I ever see you again?”
He shook his head regretfully. Matthew then tipped his hat to her and headed toward the front door of the dance hall.
“You'll be careful then, won't you?” Jennie called out to him, after he had slipped out the door.
With a quick wave of his hand, Jennie watched his retreating form disappear into the thick, icy mist.