"Oh! Fresh apples! I can make a pie for the reception." The dark-haired woman scurried to the cart on the side of the road and began examining the fruit on display.
Elbowing her way through the growing crowd, the smaller woman joined her friend at the farm stand. Fresh produce of any kind was a rarity in big cities since the rationing had become more strict. Farm stands like this one often sold out quickly, even at the higher prices.
Fishing through her purse, Stephanie found her wallet and began counting. "I've only got three dollars, Buffy. We can't afford enough apples for a pie. Not if we're going to have the reception at the hall like we planned."
"I said I would make the pie," Buffy said to her blonde companion, still focused on finding the best apples. "And that means I will pay for the apples. You don't have to do everything on your own, you know."
Shrugging, Stephanie began looking through the baskets of carrots, turnips, and onions. "But you know how I am. I like my independence. I like being useful.” She selected a few vegetables, putting them in a paper bag and paying the woman running the little cart.
Paying for the apples she had selected, Buffy turned to her friend. “If you like your independence so much, why are you getting married?”
“There are some things a woman can do for herself, and there are some things she can't. And the things she can't do for herself...”
“She doesn't talk about in public?” interrupted Buffy with a suggestive wink and smile.
The two young women giggled at the joke and continued walking down the street, occasionally stopping to look through shop windows or examine the wares of the vendors whose carts and kiosks lined the walkways. They discussed the prices, talked about current trends in fashion, and even argued about their favorite musical acts and movies. But the whole time they were smiling.
Until they reached the newsstand on the corner near Stephanie's apartment. Looking at the headlines, the joy of the day seemed to drain away. Things were not going well in the war for the Allied Forces. Their defeat at Normandy Beach was as a result of Hydra's war machines. The Nazis were bad enough, but after Hitler's assassination and Johann Shmidt's ascension to Fuhrer, things had become much worse.
“I can't believe things have gotten this bad. Wasn't the Super Soldier program supposed to help us beat the Axis?” The little blonde turned to her friend, face lined with worry. “Do you think Patrick's safe?”
The tall brunette put a hand on her friend's shoulder. Looking into her sky blue eyes, she said reassuringly “Patty's working with the Strategic Scientific Reserve on loan from MI6. If he's not safe, none of us are." Releasing her grip, Buffy patted Stephanie on the head, smiling. "Now buck up and smile. The wedding's in three days, and we still need to pick up the dress and check on the order for the flowers."
"Oh, that reminds me," began Stephanie. She opened her purse and withdrew an envelope with delicate letters scribed across it elegantly. "This is your invitation. Everyone knows you're my maid of honor, but now it's official." She smiled widely as she held the card out with both hands.
Buffy opened it carefully, withdrawing the card and reading it out loud.
"Jane Elisabeth Barnes. You are cordially invited to the wedding of Mr. Patrick Darragh Carter and Miss Stephanie Grace Rogers. Fourth July, Anno Domini One-thousand Nine-hundred Forty-six." She clasped the invitation to her chest momentarily, then wrapped her arms around her best friend, hugging her tightly.
At first, Stephanie was too shocked to respond. As her air supply dwindled in the stronger woman's embrace, she began to gasp and push her friend away. “Le' go. Ca' bree...” She smacked Buffy's arm repeatedly, trying to break free of her grasp.
“Oh, sorry,” apologized Buffy, letting go. “I was just so happy for you. I kinda lost control there. Hehe.” She rubbed the back of her head nervously, as a sheepish smile appeared on her face. In the awkward silence between the two, she noticed a strange sound in the distance. It was a low hum coming from what seemed like a long way away.
Noticing the noise at the same time, Stephanie turned toward where she thought the sound was coming from. “Hey, do you hear that?” she asked, shielding her eyes from the mid-day sun in an effort to spot the source of the strange hum.
“What... What is that?” Buffy pointed toward a dark speck in the sky. As the two women watched in puzzlement, the thing grew larger.
After a few seconds, it was obvious that it was some kind of aircraft, but not one they were immediately familiar with. Just as Stephanie was about to comment, the air raid sirens went off. It was a Hydra attack!
The two women ran for the nearest bomb shelter. Despite there having been no attacks on US soil since the event at Pearl Harbor, there were bomb shelters in all the major cities, and in many of the smaller towns. And it was good thing, too, as far as Buffy was concerned. She was determined to see her best and longest friend married and happy.
Five minutes later, they were huddled along with dozens of other people in the basement of a brownstone building. There were hushed conversations throughout the crowd, and even the occasional laugh. This was Brooklyn, after all. Nothing would break their spirits. Even if the city were turned to rubble, they would endure, rebuild, and carry on. The tenacity of the Brits in the wake of London's destruction taught the world the meaning of true inner strength. And here in the Big Apple, that stubborn unwillingness to quit was in ample supply.
There was a whistle in the distance, then silence. They could hear a rush of wind and the air began to heat up. Then nothingness.
In his office in Albany, Patrick Carter could feel the ground tremble. Looking out the window, he saw a light on the southern horizon. Wondering what it could be, his eyes grew wide in horror as a large, brightly glowing mushroom sprouted into the sky.