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A Love Not Forgotten

By Linda Shenton Matchett

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England, Highlands Hospital, March 1946

Perspiration trickled down the sides of Chaz’s face as he gripped the letter and stared at the looping script on the page. Not that he had to read the words. He had memorized them months ago. The two-year-old paper crinkled in protest as he tightened his hold.
January 1944
Dear Chaz:
The moon is full and lights up my room with an eerie blue glow. It’s nearly three o’clock in the morning, and I’ve barely slept. I miss you desperately. What are you doing? Are you safe? Are you looking at the moon, too? Today’s casualty list included two more lads from the neighborhood. Giles and Vincent Thompson. Can you believe it? Two different battles, but they are both gone. Mrs. Thompson is beside herself with grief.
Mother says I should only send you cheerful, newsy letters, but our relationship is deeper than that. We’ve always been able to talk about everything, the good and the bad.
Food is dearer than ever, so even if one has points for an item, it’s impossible to find. But I shouldn’t complain, since you are probably eating tinned meat and haven’t seen a fresh vegetable since you went away.
Work is good. I enjoy what I do, although I can’t tell you anything about it. All very hush-hush. But as much as I love my job, I love you more, and I can’t wait to become your wife.
There. I’ve said it. I want to marry you. I know you didn’t propose before you left, because you didn’t want me to feel beholden, but that doesn’t change how I feel. I’ll wait for you forever. Hurry home, my darling.
Your best girl,
Allison
“Chaz! I’ve been looking for you. Are you going to sit out here all day?” The sound of boots crunching on the gravel grew louder as the owner of the voice approached. “You’ll be fried to a crisp.”
Shoving the missive into his pocket, Chaz turned toward the voice and squinted at the figure hurrying across the circular driveway.
“Come inside and have some tea.” Hospital orderly, Ian Kellogg, had to shout to be heard over the thundering surf. “The quack said sunshine would do you good, but you’re already red as a beet. Besides, you can’t avoid the lads forever.”
Chaz bit his lip. Forever. She said she’d wait forever. But who was she?
Ian’s shadow blocked the sun’s glare. Hands on his hips, he tilted his head, his usual mulish expression painting his face. “We’ll play chess. You like that.”
“Don’t coddle me. And I’m not avoiding the lads.”
“Sure, you’re not. And I’m Princess Elizabeth.”
Heaving himself to his feet, Chaz stiffened his spine. The scar tissue on his back pulled against the healthy skin and shot knife-like pain across his shoulders. He winced and swayed against the chair. He was lucky. At least he hadn’t lost a limb or damaged his face during the plane crash.
A crash he didn’t remember. 

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