Love,
Interrupted
By
Rated PG-13
Disclaimer: I only own two characters
(Nellie and Benjamin), don’t own the rest. Don’t sue me.
It hurt. The kind
of hurt that doesn’t go away easily, if ever.
I nodded as
Edwards rattled on about the Easter Rattlesnake he’d recently discovered in his
box of nail clippings. This was one of my easier cases—he really only needed
someone to listen, or appear to, so I often let my mind wander. Call me a bad
doctor, but I had other things to worry about.
He was here.
Something had happened—what,
Hawkeye, oh my darling Hawkeye…
I hadn’t seen him
yet; I’d been avoiding anywhere he would be.
You mean poor Hawkeye.
Would he want my
sympathy? Would he be able to open his heart that much to be that vulnerable? I
knew the answer to that—he would, he had. How else could we have fallen in love
so quickly? Had it been real love?
I considered
this, nodding again to Edwards, and shifting in the chair. These fold-out
chairs were particularly uncomfortable on my increasingly bulky frame. I placed
the pad of paper onto my belly, using it as a small desk, jotting notes as a
part of my brain paid attention to my patient.
It was perhaps a
full minute when I realized Edwards had stopped talking. He was staring at my
ever-expanding belly. His eyes looked clearer than ever, and for a moment, the
sane Edwards looked back at me.
“When are you
due?” he asked; his voice sweet and mild-mannered.
I shrugged.
“January, February, maybe.”
He was quiet,
considering. “Maybe we’ll be home by then.”
Swallowing, I smiled tightly at him. “I
think that’s enough for today. Why don’t you play with your yo-yo?”
His eyes lit up and grabbed the toy
from the nearby table. As he wandered, I stood and stretched slowly. The
movement was enough to remind me that my morning sickness hadn’t quite gone
away—but I blamed the food here.
I walked out of the small common
room—the one
“How are you feeling today, Nellie?” a
pleasant voice called to me.
I smiled, turning to see
“I think I need a donut pillow to sit
on for these sessions!” I declared, drawing a laugh from the curly-haired man.
“You know, some women get hemorrhoids!”
he teased.
I mock-glared at him and followed him
outside. We strolled towards the local mess-hall, trying to enjoy the sun that
shone cheerily up above. It was late July in
“How is he?” I asked quietly. I knew he
couldn’t tell me too much, but anything was enough where Hawkeye Pierce was
concerned.
He sighed. “I think we’re nearing a
break-through. But he’s still fighting it. Some things hurt too much to admit…”
Damn him. He was giving me a look. I
refused to acknowledge it, and instead tilted my face to get the sunlight. He
added one more arrow to his quiver of nit-pickings.
“Sometimes not knowing something hurts
more than knowing it, too.”
Damn. Damn and damn.
It was hardly two days later, and I was
once again crossing the small grassy area in the commons. I had just come from
a checkup, so maybe that’s why I was so distracted. It was enough that I hardly
noticed that I was past my usual entrance and into the next courtyard. A bird
squawked overhead and I glanced up, annoyed to have my thoughts interrupted…and
froze.
There he was. Hawkeye…the man who had
truly understood me, though we hardly spoke when we were together…it was one of
those relationships where you just knew
the other, accepted it, and rejoiced in your oneness.
He
looks thinner, I
noted. His hair seemed a little less shiny, even in the sun, and the pallor of
his skin seemed wrong.
I watched him writing a letter as he
sat in the lawnchair. He would scribble for a minute, look up and sigh; then
continue again. I wondered who he wrote to with such raw emotion on his face.
“He’s telling his father what has
happened,”
Somehow, I didn’t startle. Instead, I
nodded, unwilling to tear my eyes from the sight of the man who fathered the
child within me.
“He had that breakthrough,” he added.
“He’s in pain, but at least now we can work through it…”
I smiled, though tears filled my eyes.
“I’m glad.”
“He’s going back to the 4077th,”
he said, in almost a whisper, as if he was afraid Hawkeye might hear him. “I
have to go tell him.”
For the first time since I’d known him,
Sidney Freedman sounded scared. Now I did turn to look at him.
“Is that wise?” I asked carefully,
knowing that he just needed to reassure himself. He wasn’t fooled; those dark
eyes sparkled at me brilliantly.
“What he needs now is to get back to
work, to remember what he’s good for…that he’s capable of saving lives.”
Again, I wondered what had happened,
but I bit my tongue. “He’ll be fine,
He grinned. “Reminds me of someone I
know…”
I smirked, then shoved his shoulder
playfully. “Go. Tell him. And…Sid…” I stopped, unable to say more. I put my
hand on my belly. His eyes looked at the swell, then up at me.
“Mum’s the word…Mom,” he acknowledged.
He went to Hawkeye. I watched in
silence for a second, and had to leave when I saw Hawkeye’s grin. It hurt too
much…
It was 6 months
since the cease-fire was signed in
“207…” I
muttered, glancing at the paper in my hand. “207…Ah, here we are.” I paused and
looked at the placard on the door. “Charles E. Winchester,
“I do try to keep
my accolades in a safe place,” that resonating voice declared from behind me.
I shifted slowly towards him. He stared
at me intently, and I wondered if he had any recollection of who I was at all.
Some men, I knew, had preferred to forget as much as possible about the war.
And it wasn’t like I’d been a fond memory for him.
“It’s been…ages, it seems, Doctor
Albritton,” he said finally, cordially.
I grinned, glad to know I wasn’t that
forgettable. “Charles, darling, it’s been too long!”
“I’m not too sure if it’s been long
enough!” he declared, brushing past me to open the office door. He gestured
inside, and I followed him.
“Come now, Charles, you can’t mean that
I was that horrible…it was a simple joke, that’s all,” I said easily. He
snorted, giving me a glare.
“What brings you to
“You can call me Nellie, you know. Actually,
I live here now,” I remarked. “And before you ask, no, I’m not here to tell you
that you’re the father.”
It worked: he choked on the brandy and
coughed heartily. I smirked and watched him sink into the large high-back chair
behind the desk.
“I should think not,” he acquiesced. He
eyed me, finally looking at the huge belly that protruded so far from my frame.
Something came over his face, a distant sadness, and he quirked an eyebrow at
me. “Pierce?”
Swallowing, I nodded, mildly surprised,
and somehow not, that he’d guessed. He reached into a drawer and withdrew a
small black book.
“I have his information here, if you
wish to contact him,” he began.
“God, no!” I exclaimed. “Look, Charles,
I’m on my own here. I can’t travel with
“Sidney…Freedman?”
“Yes,” I replied, forgetting for a moment
that not everyone had known what I’d done after the 4077th. “He has
to keep working, but with me about to pop, I had to settle. I always loved
His eyes lit up when I used the words
“the best”, as I’d known they would. Working in the field of psychology has its
advantages.
“You don’t have to explain it to me,
Nellie,” he said quietly. “When I heard that a pregnant young lady was asking
about me, I did my own bit of detective work.”
I stepped back, a bit stunned. “What
did you find out?”
He graced me with an almost pleasant
grin. “The name was enough to tell me what was going on. You and Pierce produced
a smaller ingrate, and you want me to help you bring it into the world, where
you appear to be planning on being a single mother.”
And there we had it. A stand-off, of
sorts. We just stared at each other. One of us needed to give in, and made the
first step. I put both hands on my belly, drawing his attention there.
“Charles, I’m not sure if this baby is
going to be the ingrate you refer to, but I can tell you this. There is nothing
more important to me at this time. Practical jokes don’t seem as…practical
anymore. I have seen too much, been through too much, and had too much thrown at
me to back down now. You don’t intimidate me. I think I shall adore you, in the
end, so why don’t we just skip to the part where we shake hands and declare a
truce.”
I huffed after my little speech,
feeling the baby kick in response. Charles sipped the brandy and rose slowly.
Our eyes were locked and I saw him making a real effort to be open to my
suggestion. His hand rose as he offered it to me. With a grin, I took his hand
and placed it on my belly. The baby kicked again at the unfamiliar touch, and I
laughed as Charles gaped in amazement.
“Nellie, you have to breathe!” Charles
said strongly, urgently.
“To hell with breathing!” I exclaimed,
drawing a gasp from the nurse. I didn’t care. I panted heavily, gripping the
sheets tightly in my fists. “I’ve been in labor for over 18 DAMN hours!” The
nurse nearly fainted. “Get this KID outa me!”
Charles seemed far too amused for his
own good as I howled in pain. He finished scrubbing and slipped into the gloves
a second nurse offered.
“Breathe, Nellie,” he reminded me
again.
Growling, I breathed in through my nose
and out through my mouth several times, loudly. He almost chuckled, then
thought better of it.
“She’s fully dilated,” the first nurse
announced. She was older and had a British accent. I remembered her mentioning
that she’d been a midwife for years…but it was blurred by the pain.
“AAAAAAAAAAAAH!” I declared.
“She’s ready,” the nurse added, hardly
giving me a glance.
I glared at her and allowed a few
choice profanities to fall out of my mouth. Her eyes went wide. Charles paused,
standing near my upraised knees, to look at me.
“I haven’t heard that kind of language since the time I operated on a…” his voice
faded. Clearing his throat, he lifted the sheets and peeked beneath. “Okay,
Nellie, at the next contraction, I want you to push.”
“Damn straight!” I hollered. “Here we
goooooooooooooo!”
We fell into a rhythm. I had a
contraction, Charles and the nurses urged me to push, I screamed and pushed and
cursed some more…and suddenly, there was a wail. I was panting, gasping, and
sighing in an attempt to catch my breath. Then Charles held the baby up—bloody
mess and all—and turned the wiggling body towards me. And I lost my breath
again.
“It’s a boy, Nellie. You have a son.”
Reality hit me later. I was sitting in
my hospital room, alone. My baby was being examined thoroughly by Charles—which
I appreciated, but I would like to see and hold my baby now, dammit. The other
beds in the room were empty and that’s when I began to weep.
I’m
alone. I have a child, no other family, no one. We’re on our own…
The door opened and I wiped hastily at
my eyes. Charles came in, holding my now-bundled son. A nurse followed with a
bassinet of sorts. My eyes were on the squeaking blanket.
“He’s beautiful, Nellie,” Charles said
as he approached the bed.
I held my arms out in a “gimme” way and
he laughed. Within second of being handed the baby, I had him stripped naked.
Charles gaped at me as I gave the child my own examination—the kind every
mother gives her newborn: counting toes and fingers and looking at every inch.
Charles looked to the nurse, who shrugged.
“It’s a mother thing,” she offered as
an explanation.
“Oh,” I sighed. “He’s perfect!”
Any leftover pain or discomfort on my
part had disappeared the moment I laid eyes (and hands) on my son. He squeaked
and groaned at me and I quickly redressed him and wrapped the blanket around
him carefully. I stared at him, completely enraptured.
Charles said nothing, but I noticed he
sent the nurse away. He pulled a chair up and sank onto it, watching us.
“Have you any names?” he asked.
I looked up blankly, my mind not really
sure what to make of his question.
“I might recommend Charles,” he added,
grinning.
“Oh!” I laughed. I stroked the soft
spot of black hair on the top of the baby’s head. His eyes were still mostly
closed, but he peeked at me long enough for me to see the vibrant blue.
“Nellie?”
For a moment, my heart ached
uncontrollably for Hawkeye. I nodded, refusing to look up or acknowledge the
tears in my eyes. I hid the raw emotion by cooing at my son. Charles watched as
he whimpered and fussed.
“He’s most likely hungry,” he pointed
out.
“Ah,” I agreed. Still focused on his
little face, I lifted my nightgown.
Sputtering and the screech of chair
legs against the floor made me pause and look up in time to see Charles run out
the door. I began to laugh as I nursed for the first time. I refused to allow
the tears to return on such a joyous day.
“Blblbbbllllbbltlt,” Benjamin declared,
holding both feet in his hands. I beamed at him as I dressed. He watched me
from the bassinet on the floor.
“Mommy needs to hurry up if she wants
to get to the church on time!” I said in a sing-song voice.
“Pppsfffflltlsblblblblt!” Benjamin
agreed, blowing bubbles.
Cursing mentally—I’d given it up in
front of my impressionable son—I stumbled into my shoes and grabbed the small
pocketbook nearby. I checked the blankets in the bassinet and tried to get the
wriggling baby to hold still beneath them. Hefting the entire bulky bundle by
the large handles, I only paused long enough to yank my coat on and tossed
another blanket over my son. I strode out into the cold weather, grinning at
the gurgling noises Benjamin made cheerfully beneath the blankets.
“Madam,” Charles greeted, opening the
car door. He ushered me inside and ordered the drive to rush. Once inside, I
removed the outermost blanket and checked that Benjamin was okay. Charles
peered inside, and I caught him making a goofy face.
“We’re going to
be late, I’m sorry,” I said to him, trying to look sheepish.
“It’s not as if
they can start without us, Nellie,” he pointed out.
“Poor kid, late
to his own christening,” I remarked, tickling Benjamin’s feet.
“Beellellelebbmbmbmmm,”
he replied earnestly.
Charles chuckled.
“I’m sure Father Mulcahy doesn’t mind waiting.”
I grinned, but
before I could say anything, we screeched to a halt and rushed into the big
church. I wasn’t Catholic, though my parents had been, but I respected their
practices. That’s why I wanted my son to have this baptism and formal declaration
of his name.
A quiet and
smiling nun helped us out of our coats and accepted the bassinet as I picked
Benjamin up. His baptismal gown hung a good foot past his dangling feet,
glowing brightly white. Charles had provided it, along with several other gifts
that just “appeared” at my apartment sometimes.
As we entered the
sanctuary, Benjamin let out a loud squeal. I shushed him, glad there were no
parishioners in the pews to disapprove.
“Make a joyful
noise unto the Lord,” a calm and sweet voice declared.
We turned and
greeted the quiet figure who approached us. I hugged Father Mulcahy as well as
I could with a wiggling infant in my arms. He gazed down at Benjamin, touching
his black hair gently in a silent blessing.
“Come now,” he
said serenely.
We followed him
to the front of the church, beneath a beautiful stain-glass window. There was a
hush over the entire building and I shivered. Benjamin whimpered and I jiggled
him gently, reassuring him. I listened to the short ceremony in silence,
speaking up at the proper points. Finally, I handed the baby to Mulcahy. He
prayed in Latin, then asked me to state the baby’s name.
“Benjamin
Franklin Albritton,” I said, looking him straight in the eyes.
He hardly gave any sort of surprise,
and continued the ceremony without stumbling. Charles shifted his feet, trying
to remain silent, but I knew he was probably bored. Finally, the part I’d been
nervously awaiting arrived. Mulcahy asked me to name any godparents.
“Charles Emerson Winchester, III,” I
said firmly.
Now Charles did react, stepping forward
in his surprise. I looked back at him in silent challenge—dare to refuse, and
face my wrath. To my own shock, his eyes were shining as he nodded his
acceptance of the title.
The rest of the ceremony went quickly.
Afterwards, the three adults and one baby went out to a wonderful Italian
restaurant. We stayed out, laughing and talking, and playing with Benjamin
until I decided I needed to get the little one to bed.
“I shall pray for you both, in the
hardships you will undoubtedly face in the future,” Mulcahy said, his hand
cupping my face.
I fought the tears. “Thank you,” I
whispered.
“Caaaaaaaaaaaake!”
Benji demanded, banging his small spoon against the highchair’s tray.
“I do hope you’re
not putting a candle on a one year-old’s cake,” I said to Charles, who had his
back to me. He paused, glanced sheepishly over his shoulder, and chuckled.
“You’re right,
that’s most likely an ill-advised notion,” he said, somehow sounding
pretentious even as he was caught making a mistake.
“Cake!” Benji
reiterated, glaring at the two adults who dared defy him.
“Yes, sweetie,” I
replied, giving him a grin.
Charles presented
the small cake I’d made for the boy. We sang to him and laughed as he plunged
both hands into the frosting.
“You see?” I
said, chortling. “This is why he’s wearing only his diaper!”
There was a knock
at the door. Charles, the dear, went to answer it as I took a picture of Benji
covered in frosting.
“I would say that
this scene takes the cake…” a voice said. “But that would be redundant!”
“
“Oh, are we
pretending that he doesn’t exist?”
“She hasn’t
spoken his name in months,” Charles said. I hated the way they sounded like
they spoke about a patient.
“I happen to
think it might confuse Benji if I refer to someone by his name, and then say I
didn’t mean him,” I protested. They exchanged a look of long-suffering, which I
ignored. I was glad when the phone rang.
“Hello?” I said,
watching
“Nellie?” a
familiar voice replied uncertainly.
“
“How are you?” he
asked, relief in his voice—how he found my number, Lord only knows.
“Oh, we’re
wonderful!” I laughed. “Miss you terribly, of course.”
“I got the latest
snapshot of Benji…Mildred put it right up on the wall. Lovely frame, too.”
“I’m glad! Oh,
There was a long
pause, and I knew he was trying to figure out what to say.
“I heard a rumor
that someone’s planning a reunion…” I said.
There, without
actually saying it, I’d broken the ice on the subject of the Korean War.
“Should be nice…”
His voice grew gruff. “I really miss some of them…”
“Me too…”
We were silent
for a few seconds.
“Aw, hell,
Nellie,” he said. “Have you spoken to anyone?”
I knew who he
really meant. “Sidney and Charles are here, and Father Mulcahy performed
Benji’s christening…”
I filled him in
on the last year, including how I’d finagled Charles into becoming not only a
friend, but the godfather to my son. We laughed and carried on for a while,
then I saw that Benji was getting cranky. We said our goodbyes, promised to
write more often, and hung up.
“Come here,
Mister Benji,” I cooed, swooping him into the air. I held him at a distance,
avoiding the cake-encrusted body. Holding him aloft, I realized I couldn’t
remove his diaper.
When he was
clean, I dried him, powdered him and re-diapered him quickly. Then we settled
in the living room to have some of the other cake I’d made for the adults, and
coffee. Benji soon fell asleep.
“…music has
become something I look forward to again, finally,” Charles was saying.
I smiled faintly.
Charles had only recently confided in me what had happened to him near the end
of the war.
“That’s
wonderful, Charles,”
“I had…some help,
I’m afraid,” Charles admitted, giving me a nod.
“Me?” I replied,
surprised. “What did I do?”
He looked
embarrassed. “You refused to be intimidated by my arrogance or fortune, and
accepted me into your family…”
I stared at him,
absently patting Benji’s back gently. I turned to look at Sidney, who had that
damned shrink’s look on his face…I was afraid I knew what he was thinking, and
suddenly, I was thinking it too…
Does Charles think of me as more than a
friend?
Ironically, it
was Charles who swept the silence from the room. He stood suddenly, going
towards the coat-rack that held his jacket.
“I almost
forgot,” he was saying. “I had gotten something for Benjamin while I was
downtown.”
“Oh Charles, you
didn’t have to…” I said, gasping as I saw what he held.
It was a small
treasure chest, made of sterling silver. A key was in the lock. He held it out,
cradled in both hands.
“Turn the key and
open it,” he urged.
Using my free
hand, I did just that, hearing a click. I lifted the lid slowly, glancing up as
“A…contract?” I
said, curiously. Something caught my eye. “To a private school?”
“Benjamin is
guaranteed admission to the finest private elementary school in all of
I smirked. “I
assume this is the same one that you attended.”
“Of course!” He
managed to look offended that I’d think otherwise, and yet proud of the fact he
did.
I stared at the
contract, not really reading it. “How can a one year old be admitted to a
private school?”
“I assure you,
only the most refined and affluent of families can get their children in at
such a young age,” he explained, sniffing indignantly.
“It’s not that I
don’t appreciate that you’re thinking of Benjamin’s future, Charles!” I
protested. “But, I would have liked to have been a part of making the decision
for my own son!”
He looked
confused for a moment, then his face clouded in anger. He led the heavy silver
lid fall closed.
“I don’t know why
I bothered,” he snapped. “A child of Pierce and you could only cause havoc in a
refined establishment of this sort!”
He’d insulted my
son now. Calmly, I stood and placed Benji in the nearby bassinet. Whirling, and
keeping my voice down, I turned on Charles.
“Benjamin is my son. Maybe I don’t have all the finer
things in life, and maybe this apartment is crummy and I can barely afford to
feed us sometimes, but by God, he is my son and I know what’s best for him!”
“Nelson, be
reasonable! This school can give Benjamin the openings in life that you cannot
provide. He would be taught the finest—”
“Don’t try to
coddle me, and call me Nelson in the same breath, Charles,” I retorted. “And
don’t try to pressure me into agreeing with you either.”
“I’m not trying
to pressure you!” he protested, his voice rising. It dropped to a hush just as
quick. “I am merely pointing out what is best for the boy may not be apparent
to you. You are allowing your pride to hide what you know to be the truth!”
“And you are
using your pride to try to push this on me! We’re not in the army now, Charles,
you don’t outrank me anymore! And certainly never will when it comes to my
son!”
He huffed and
puffed at me for a moment, that impeccably groomed man turning into a pile of anger.
His head was shining with the sweat that suddenly appeared in his frustration.
“Fine,” he said,
biting off the word. “Do whatever the hell you want with him.”
He stormed out.
The door shut, and I was grateful that he hadn’t slammed it. As soon as he was
gone, my anger disappeared and I looked at
“It’s been
accumulating ever since Benji’s christening, I suppose,” I began. “I wanted a
male influence in Benji’s life, since he doesn’t have a father…but he seems to
be taking the role a bit too far.”
“He’s acting as
if he’s Benji’s father,”
The way he said
it made my jaw drop. He’d done it again.
“Charles said it
himself, didn’t he.” It wasn’t a question. “I let him into my little family
here, where he’s getting all the love and affection he doesn’t get in his own
family.”
“And I get upset
because he isn’t Hawkeye…” Saying the name hurt more than I expected and I
sighed. “How do I lay down the rules for his actual role without driving him
away completely?”
Damn. Why was I
here again?
Oh, right, to get back on Charles’ good
side.
Shifting Benjamin
on my hip, I raised the knocker and banged twice on the solid door. A short and
plump woman opened it after a moment.
“May I help ye?”
she asked in a pleasant Irish brogue.
“I’m looking for
Charles Winchester, the, uh, third?” I said, so glad I was keeping my wits and
sounding ever so eloquent.
She eyed me. “You
must be Miss Albritton,” she said, offering me a grin. “And the darlin’ wee
Benjamin.”
I found myself
grinning back at her. A gust of wind surprised me in it’s chilliness and I
gasped.
“Oh, come inside,
Miss, before ye freeze!” She held the doors open and I went in, grateful for
the heat. “I’m Carol, the
“Carol,” I
greeted. “Call me Nellie, please.”
“Oh, I can’t be
doing that, now,” she clucked at me, taking my coat with an expertness. “Miss
Albritton will have to do for ye.”
I adored her
already. She led us into the foyer, where she hung our coats and things in the
large closet.
“I’ll just be
letting Master Charles know ye’re here,” she said.
And there I was.
In the infamous
“It’s more like a
palace, isn’t it, Benji?” I said softly.
As I went further
into the house, I was greeted by an extraordinarily large staircase which ran
along the far wall and up into the second story. There was a third story, I
noticed, trying not to gape like a country bumpkin. Benjamin gurgled at me and
squealed. Hearing his voice echo, he began to make random noises to hear it
again and again. I didn’t bother trying to shush him, and instead looked at the
finery that surrounded us.
On a nearby
table, there was a small book. I walked by it slowly, realizing it was a
guestbook like hotels have. Thinking this may be the only time I was ever in
this house, I signed it, and put Benjamin’s name after mine. Walking slowly, I
approached the small roaring fireplace, which heated the front of the house
quite nicely. There was a mantle with several photographs in frames. Peering at
them, I was astounded to spy a very young, very dapper young Charles in a
school uniform.
It’s hard to believe that solemn little boy
could grow up to be the sometimes charming man he is today.
It had been
nearly a week since our little explosion in front of
“Mmm Chars!”
Benjamin said suddenly and distinctly.
I turned, and
there he was, stopped on the staircase, watching me.
“Why have you
come?” he asked, bordering on demanding.
I switched
Benjamin to the other hip and tried to smile up at him, but found myself unable
to.
“I’ve come to
make peace,” I said, slowly walking towards him. “I’ve realized a few things,
and I want to talk to you about everything.”
He looked as if
he wanted to refuse and throw me out, but Benjamin chose that moment to whine
and reach outwards for him. In a second, Charles was before me, taking my son
and holding him close.
“Chars!” Benjamin
exclaimed, echoing again. His tiny hand found Charles’ ear and he tugged.
“I should offer
my apologies, Nellie,” Charles said in a hush. “What you choose to do with
Benjamin’s education is none of my business.”
“No, see that’s
there the confusion came from,” I argued softly. “You are Benji’s Godfather,
and so you have the right to have a part in major decisions. But you must
realize that the final choice is mine alone. Your voice will be heard, but you
cannot just take control of the situation.”
He tore his eyes
from the animated child in his arms. “Thank you, Nellie,” he said, meeting my
eyes with a slight smile.
“Another thing,
Charles,” I said, drawing a shaky breath. “I must apologize for reacting so
strongly. It’s just…Benjamin’s father isn’t here, and it was as if you were
trying to replace him.”
He made a sour
face. “Please, Nellie,” he said as if the very notion was distasteful. “I could
never lower myself to that level of debauchery.”
I made a face and
laughed. Benjamin, sensing a change in the air, laughed too. Charles joined us
and our laughter echoed throughout the great hall.
I sat in silence, out on the front
stoop of my new apartment. People walked by, greeting each other like old
friends, and offering me hellos. I replied hollowly, not really seeing them.
When someone asked their companion what was wrong with me, I heard the phrase
“served in
Some people were celebrating the two
year anniversary of the ending of the war. Others were drowning their sorrows
in a bottle, trying to forget the horrors they’d seen or been a part of.
I had been shipped home three days
before the war was declared over. The Army had swept me out of their ranks, on
a medical discharge.
But none of this was the reason for my
melancholy mood.
Admit
it, Nellie. You’re lonely. Your only companion is your son. And he’s not with
you today.
I was supposed to be inside, unpacking
and setting up house. Instead, I found myself watching the end of the street
for the familiar towncar. If my stomach hadn’t reminded me that I hadn’t eaten
since breakfast, I may have sat there until nightfall.
Standing, I went inside to get
something to eat. My mind, free of the usual distraction of taking care of
Benjamin, went over the recent events.
Charles had shown up with a key.
“It’s nothing fancy, but it’s certainly
better than this place,” he explained.
I’d wanted to argue, but the landlord
had just raised the rent out of my price-range. Not to mention that as Benjamin
moved around the house, I found more and more hazards to contend with.
“I’ve already paid a year’s rent in
full, utilities included,” Charles added. “Consider it your birthday and
Christmas presents for the next year.”
It was fancy, to my tastes and
especially compared to the dump we’d just left. In fact, I found that I didn’t
have enough furniture and things to fill the place!
“I’ll take care of the necessities for
now, you just get yourself settled,” Charles had declared that morning. Carol
had come in behind him, swept Benjamin into her arms, and began to walk out. I
protested, but Charles interrupted. “Carol will be taking care of him so that
you can work in peace.”
And they were gone. Ashamed of the
emotional display, I’d cried as they drove away. Sitting on the front steps, I’d
moped.
As I emptied most of the dishes into
the cabinets, I was dismayed by the hodgepodge of cheap items. Then my mind
began to wander, my thoughts turned to Hawkeye.
“I wonder what he’s doing right now,” I
spoke aloud, startled to hear my own voice. Going to the refrigerator, I was
not surprised to see that Charles had had it stocked. I made a simple sandwich
and poured a glass of milk and sat at my small table.
“He’s probably flourishing in Crabapple
Cove,” I continued my private monologue. “After all, everyone loves and trusts
his father, and him. I bet his dad has semi-retired at this point. Sure, let
the boy take over the family business…nevermind that he has a family he doesn’t
know about…”
I wiped the fresh tears from my eyes,
swallowed the last of the sandwich crust and down my milk. This was exactly why
I’d thrown myself into parenting. I didn’t want to have time to let my mind
think the things that they were. Heaving a heavy sigh, I tried to distract
myself by actually unpacking everything.
Until I found the box of letters. I’d
half forgotten about it, I realized in shock. Hand shaking, I leaned back
against the side of my bed and opened the first one.
Dear
Hawkeye,
Things
are never easy. If they were, they’d be rather boring. Or so I tell myself.
Working
with
I
haven’t been feeling well lately, and I finally found out why. We had to do a
blood test to be sure, but now we are…
I’m
pregnant.
Oh
God, Benjamin…what an incredible reminder of what we shared…
Folding that one, I reached for the
next. I skimmed the beginning part, where I talked about normal things in
life—work and the weather.
I
saw you today and oh, how it hurt. Sidney couldn’t tell me anything, but I
wanted so much to find you and comfort you. Knowing that was a terrible idea
didn’t faze me. I just wanted to hold you in my arms and tell you: It will be
all right. I’m here. I love you.
God
knows that I do still love you. He also knows that I wonder why sometimes. War
makes people feel stronger, faster, out of fear that there won’t be a
tomorrow…but what they don’t tell you is that sometimes, that other person is
just so amazing, so perfect for you, there was no other choice but to fall in
love with them.
I was weeping as I took the next one
out.
A
son. I have a son. We have a son. He’s so perfect, beautiful and amazing.
Someday, you will know him, and be so awed that two people like us could create
someone so astounding.
There were more, for every big moment
in Benjamin’s life so far. His first tooth, his first word, his first skinned
knee…I read them all, weeping out of sadness and joy as I relived each glorious
moment. I grieved that Hawkeye wasn’t around for it; that he could never get
those times back…
I waited patiently in Charles’ office,
wondering why he’d asked me to come down that day. Benjamin was two now, and
quite a handful, but I was confident that Carol could manage. She’d become a
regular babysitter for me, since I’d started looking for a full-time position
in town.
There was a shortage of available jobs
for women doctors, it seemed. Something they’d forgotten to tell us before—old
prejudices come back stronger than ever when a war has been fought. I’d had a
small but sturdy practice before the war, but found that even my old patients
would rather see a man. The shrink in my said it had to do with men being
“protectors”, and that’s what they needed in an uncertain time…but the rest of
me was furious at being betrayed.
“Oh, excuse me,” a young lady said,
pushing a small cart into the office. She dropped a stack of envelopes on the
desk and left quickly. Seeing how they lay in a scattered pile, I straightened
them. I glanced down and nearly dropped the entire group when I saw the first
one. It was from Hawkeye. I carefully placed the others on the desk, and held
it up to my face. I don’t know what I was expecting, to smell his aftershave
again, to caress the surface he’d touched…or just to be near something he’d
held.
“Do you always molest other people’s
mail?” Charles said, entering the office finally. I dropped the envelope in my
embarrassment, which he pointedly ignored. I watched as he placed a file
carefully on the desk, and collected the letters to flip through. I retrieved
the one I’d dropped from the floor and handed it to him. His eyes met mine.
“I’m scared sometimes,” I said quietly,
unsure of why I spoke. “I think I’m forgetting him…he’s not as readily clear in
my mind as he once was. His voice, his laughter…I can’t hear them.”
I sat, unnerved by my own admission.
Charles opened the envelope in one
smooth movement. “This is why I asked you to be here today. I was hoping this
would arrive…” He unfolded a piece of official paper, lifting a page and
nodding at what he saw there. “Pierce had a small practice here in
I shook my head. “No, I thought he’d
been in Crabapple Cove…”
“Hmm,” Charles grunted, skimming the
paper again. “He just sold the facility to me, but I have no use for it.” He
looked up at me finally. “But I think perhaps you do.”
I was stunned. “Charles, that’s…so
wonderful and sweet.” He beamed. “But I would have the same trouble I’m having
now. No one wants to go to a female doctor…”
“May I ask why you are not continuing
with your psychological practice?” he asked bluntly.
I shrugged. “I was a surgeon first, I’m
only partly qualified to be a psychiatrist. I don’t have the actual degree I
would need…”
“If you had it, would you become a
psychiatrist?”
“I…I suppose I could.” I stared at him,
afraid that I knew where this was going.
“Perfect.” He sat back in the chair,
hands folded over his stomach. “I have recently discovered a fascinating
article in a medical journal. It seems that some patients respond to their
treatments more urgently when they listen to classical music.”
I nodded. “I’ve heard similar things
for children’s developmental skills.”
“Excellent, so you’ve already heard of
the benefits.” He paused, lips pursed, as he studied the ceiling above us. “I
have resigned as Chief Thoracic Surgeon.”
I jumped to my feet. “Charles Emerson
He smirked, and half chuckled. “Yes, I
suppose I must be. There was nothing I wanted more than this position…for years
I craved it. But I find that my professional passions have shifted.”
“What the hell?!” I exclaimed, unable
to express the anger and bewilderment I was feeling.
“Since I have found myself able to
listen to my music again, I have found that it has helped me heal. I want
others to find the same joy.”
I dropped back into my seat. Charles
didn’t easily admit his true emotions, especially when they portrayed a sense
of weakness.
“I’ve started my own funding to do
further research into Musical Therapy,” he continued, oblivious to my
amazement. “But I need someone with a background in psychology to be on my
team.” He looked at me pointedly.
I gasped. “Charles!”
“You can use the research for your thesis,
and get your degree,” he concluded. “I won’t work you to death, so you will be
able to spend time with Benjamin and also go to classes.”
“But…”
“Of course,” he rushed on. “You don’t
have to accept at all. I would be at a disadvantage since then I would have to
find someone else who is willing to put up with me. However, I don’t want to
pressure you. This is your decision.”
Swallowing, I nodded. “Thank you for
that, Charles…but this…are you sure you thought this through?”
He grinned beatifically at me. “I’ve
been considering this for over a year, my darling Nellie. The time had come for
me to make a decision. And so I have.”
I grinned, still in awe of this new
side of Charles. “When do I start?”
“Ah,” he sighed
happily. “I still have to obtain a laboratory and everything we’ll need. But in
the meantime, I offer you the small practice. You may open whatever type of
small clinic that you wish to, and I will be glad to rent it to you.”
“I’m sure we can
work something out.”
“Tell me why I’m doing this again?” I asked, walking
out of the pleasant, but cool, Spring weather and into the great
“My father is
extremely influential at Boston Mercy,” Charles explained slowly, as if to a
child. “And there is a better chance that he will listen to you.”
“Because I’m a
woman?”
He looked away.
“Because you are not me.”
“Oh.” I couldn’t
think of anything else to say. I forced my fingers to unclench from the folder
I carried. Inside were our presentation notes and files, though I liked to
refer to it as our Folder of Begging.
As Charles hung
my shawl, I was again in awe of the immense grandeur of his parent’s home.
Carol, having rousted Benjamin from his car ride induced nap, came in behind
us. Charles gallantly took her thin jacket—one arm at a time—as she held my
son.
“Now, lad,” Carol
said to Benjamin. “Shall we go an’ play in Master Charles’ old room?” She
winked at Charles.
“I wanna play,
‘Rol!” Benjamin said clearly. He was only two, but he could form complete
sentences when he wanted to. I smiled at them both.
“Be good,” I said
to my son, kissing the top of his head.
“Good Benji,” he
declared, smiling angelically.
“Uh huh,” I
replied, watching them leave the foyer.
“Come now,
Nellie,” Charles called. “Father’s waiting.”
“Oh boy,” I said
with no enthusiasm.
We went down the
hall and into a huge library. I stopped to stare at the countless books. I
longed to touch the spines and run my fingers over them.
“Father,” Charles
was saying. “May I present Miss Nelson Albritton.”
That’s when I realized
that this immense room was his father’s study.
“Miss Albritton,”
he greeted. He seemed polite enough, but there was a hint of barely concealed
annoyance. I offered my hand and studied the man.
“Mr. Winchester,
sir,” I replied. “I can see where Charles got his good looks.” And hairline, I
added silently.
“Please,” he
said, gesturing at the two chairs in front of his massive desk. He went around
to sit in the high back chair behind it. “Now then, what is this all about?”
Charles deferred
to me. Gee, thanks.
“Mr.
“Madam,” he
interrupted. “I understand how music may be applied to many fields. But I have
yet to hear what kind of business proposition you have that may concern me.”
I flushed—out of
anger and embarrassment—and replied, “I was just coming to that point, sir. If
I may continue?”
I saw Charles
stiffen in shock as I spoke to his father firmly, yet respectfully. I wondered
when the last time was that someone stood up to him…if ever.
“Charles and I,
with much discussion, have decided that we would like to dedicate ourselves to
this research, full time. In order to do that,” I rushed on, seeing him about
to speak again. “We would require proper facilities and equipment, and funding.
We offer you the opportunity to present this to the hospital council on our
behalves.”
His eyebrows
bobbed in thought, his eyes searched my face, then Charles’.
“You always were
overly fascinated by music,” he declared to his son. “And I have seen how it
can destroy a soul only to rebuild it once again…”
I turned, needing
to see how Charles reacted to his father. His steely blue eyes stared straight
ahead. I touched his hand and, to my surprise, he immediately grasped it. This
was not lost on his father.
“Miss…no, forgive
me, Doctor Albritton,” he said
finally. “I would be honored to ask the Council to consider this research. I
assume you require a lab in the hospital itself, near the Psychiatric Wing?”
I nodded, stunned
that he’d accepted so easily. From what Charles had told me, I’d expected a
huge fight, full of venom.
“Excellent, I
shall review your credentials and what other information you have for me.”
I handed him the
folder, standing to do so.
“Doctor
Albritton, would you like to join us for dinner tonight?”
Too numb to do
anything else, I nodded again.
“Charles would
you see that she’s included in the table settings?”
“And Benji too,”
I spoke up.
“Of course,” he
accepted, with a minute flicker of his eyes as he checked my ring finger.
Charles left us
alone.
“Benjamin is your
son,”
“Yeah, I kinda
like him myself.”
To my
astonishment, he burst into a booming laugh. “I’m glad you have a sense of
humor! I was afraid you were as stuffy as my son!”
I took a chance.
“Right back atcha, sir!”
He paused. “I am,
though.”
This time, we
both laughed.
I was introduced
to Mrs. Winchester at dinner that night. I got her husband to call me Nellie by
then, but she was intent on calling me by my full name—Nelson. I flinched and
winced my way through dinner as she used the name nearly every time she spoke.
Benjamin used his full charms,
behaving through dinner and causing Mrs. Winchester to call him a perfect angel.
Carol and I exchanged a look of amusement, knowing that he could be anything
but when the mood took him.
I went home that
night, and, having put Benjamin to bed, I found myself unable to sleep. My life
was taking an exciting new direction, and for the first time in a long time,
I’d felt a moment of family while with the Winchesters. I wondered what Charles
would think of that.
Smiling, I
drifted off to sleep.
“
“Oh, hello,
Nellie,” he said in a distracted tone.
I stared at him,
annoyed. He’d been acting like this for weeks now, ever since our lab had
opened. Part of me was afraid he regretted giving up his position at the
hospital.
“Charles,” I said
slowly, deciding to confront him. He grunted. “Charles,” I repeated softly. He
looked up. “What’s on your mind?”
“Nothing!” he
snapped, looking away. I waited. “It’s utterly ridiculous!”
I half-smiled;
glad that he was responding. “What is?” I encouraged.
“My parents,” he
spat, as if that explained it all. Of course, to him, perhaps it did. From his
tone, I knew they were okay, so I waited again. “`You’re lonely, son’, they
say. `You should procure a more active social life’.”
I considered
that. “Not a bad idea, really. I’ve never seen you go on a date.”
He gave me a
dirty look. “I’m fine.”
Smiling, I
placated him. “I didn’t say you weren’t. But sometimes I think your only life,
outside of work, is seeing me and Benji.”
He looked at me
oddly. “That’s what they said…”
“See, there ya
go!” I grinned.
“They suggested
that you should also date,” he added, watching me closely.
I chuckled.
“Right, a single mother.”
“They suggested
that we should date…each other.”
I stopped
laughing. We eyed each other in a new light. I’d wondered over a year ago if
Charles felt more for me than simple friendship. Now I allowed myself to
consider whether I could feel more for him. Certainly, he was an attractive
man…his heart was kind, his sense of humor was sharp…and he adored Benjamin.
“Well,” I said
finally. “It’s worth a try…”
“I’ve never been
to the Opera, Honoria,” I said as I slipped into another dress. Charles’ sister
was loaning me a dress to wear on our date, and right now was trying not to
laugh at the way my bosom overflowed yet another dress. It’s not that my
breasts were so large—though they had gotten bigger after my pregnancy—it was
more of a factor that Honoria’s chest wasn’t as voluptuous.
“You’ll be
f-fine, Nellie,” she proclaimed, her laughter—though muffled—brought out her
stutter a bit more. “Just do what Ch-Charles does, but do t-try not to be as
p-p-pompous!”
I laughed.
Besides their mother, and Charles, the
“Well,” Honoria
said, eyeing me in the latest outfit. This was a beaded black dress, with a
delicate flare of blue roses on the left shoulder. “That’s you for s-sure,
Nellie!”
I agreed. This
neckline criss-crossed and while it showed some cleavage, it also covered more
than the others. Admiring my reflection in the full-length mirror, I spun,
giggling as the skirt billowed.
“It’s too bad we
won’t be dancing,” I remarked. I blushed nervously. “I can’t believe I
suggested this…”
“At least th-this
will get M-mother and Father off of your b-backs,” she replied, holding a
sapphire necklace up in the light.
“Charles’ back,
at any rate,” I remarked, staring at the small teardrop jewel she held. She
passed it to me, then dug in her jewelry box for earrings. I hooked the chain
behind my neck as she held out two post earrings in the same shape as the
pendant. I put those into my lobes, and admired the sparkling effect.
“Let’s s-see
about shoes, then,” Honoria said, heading into her large closet.
It turned out
that since she was a good three inches taller than me, her feet were an entire
size larger. I teetered in a pair of black strappy heels. They gave the right
height so that the dress didn’t look too long, but when I tried to walk, I
almost walked out of them.
“Wait, I know a
p-pair…they’re too t-tight for me…”
I removed the
hazardous shoes and watched Honoria rummage through her shoes.
“When I get
m-married,” she declared, emerging victorious with plain black heels. “I simply
must get rid of s-some of these clothes!” She waited as I tried the heels on.
Seeing that they fit well enough, she added, “I’ll give it all to you, starting
with those.”
“Honoria!” I
exclaimed, ready to refuse them.
“I insist,” she
said quickly.
We were
interrupted by a knock at the door. Carol poked her head inside.
“Master Charles
inquires—” I could tell she was quoting. “—if the ladies are finished preening,
would Miss Nellie please join him.”
Honoria smiled
behind her hand. I smirked.
“Carol, please
tell Charles, and you may quote me on this, to keep his pants on!”
Carol grinned
brilliantly. “Yes, m’am!”
Honoria looked at
me. “She’ll tell him that exactly, y-you know.”
I snorted. “Good
thing too! He can wait!”
I shifted
nervously in the back of the towncar. Honoria had provided a pair of black
gloves, and a wrap for the dress, but I still felt naked. It didn’t help that
Charles was being so attentive.
“You’re staring,”
I’d accused as we got into the car.
“I’m simply
unaccustomed to such elegance…”
I blushed, seeing
his eyes on me again.
“Charles,” I said
softly, trying not to whine.
He looked away,
peering out the window at the city of
“Touché,” he
murmured, turning to look at me.
Our gazes locked
for a moment, but we both looked away in embarrassment.
Finally, we
arrived at the opera. I didn’t even know what we were seeing, but I assumed it
was in Italian, so I suppose that didn’t matter. I took a cue from Charles as
he put his hat on; I pulled the gloves up my arms. We went inside where we were
greeted and given programs. One young lady offered opera glasses for rent.
“No, thank you,
my dear,” Charles said to her. “I brought my own.”
My goodness, his
snooty accent got snootier.
“Well, I don’t
own any,” I pointed out.
“Oh!” Charles
looked unsettled. He withdrew his glasses and held the long stem out to me.
“You shall use mine, then. And I,” he looked as if the idea was distasteful. “I
shall rent a pair.”
After he had done
so, he offered me his arm. I took it warmly, smiling at the moment of chivalry.
He led me to private box seats and somehow, I wasn’t surprised. A young man
offered us champagne and I accepted it gladly.
This date is shaping up to be rather nice…I
noted.
The thought
brought back my nerves with a vengeance. Trying to sip the champagne—and not
gulp the way I wanted to—I peered at the others down below. So many different
looking people, and yet all the same—rich and loving it. I was completely out
of my element. I down the rest of the drink when Charles wasn’t looking.
After the
opera—which was beautiful and moving, though I could only guess what was being
said/sung—the car picked us up and took us to a fancy French restaurant. I told
Charles I trusted him and let him order for me. As he spoke in French, I stared
at him in fascination. He turned to me and I found myself at a loss for words.
“Did you enjoy La Boheme?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said,
playing with the napkin on my lap. “What I followed of it…”
“Allow me to fill
you in,” he offered.
Before he could,
the waiter reappeared with a bottle of wine. Charles gave his approval and
watched as two glasses were poured. He handed one to me and held his up in a
toast.
“To new
beginnings,” he said, stammering slightly.
I smiled tightly,
thinking, or not…
As we waited for
our dinner, Charles told me the story of La
Boheme. It almost felt like a normal evening of talking with a friend, but
I couldn’t shake the bouts of nerves. I hoped it wasn’t too obvious to Charles,
but as I watched him speak, I realized he was almost as nervous as I was.
Especially since, between the two of us, the bottle of wine was half gone by
the time our food came.
Conversation
turned to family as I mentioned how helpful Honoria had been. Charles adored
his sister, it was obvious.
“I’m afraid we
won’t see much of her in the next few months,” he said, running his fingertip
around the rim of his glass. Mine was empty again. “She’s got so much planning
to do, with her upcoming wedding…”
I ate in silence
for a moment, wondering if I would ever get married. But who would have me? I looked up and knew he’s been having those
thoughts on his own. As he poured the last of the wine into my glass and
ordered another, I decided that he probably would. And would you have him as a husband, a father?
I took a large
swallow of wine, trying not to choke as I answered myself.
Yes, I think I would…
“She’s very
lucky,” I replied finally.
“Mmm…” he said,
sipping his own wine.
By time we
ordered dessert, Charles asked for some brandy. The wine was gone. My thoughts
were whirling through my head so fast, I couldn’t keep up. I blamed the
alcohol.
“This is good,” I
said, spooning another bite into my mouth. I wondered who was slurring, then
startled as I realized it was me. “What’s it called again?”
“Um,” Charles
stared at his plate, then looked up at me, giggling. “I don’t remember!”
Was I leaning
closer to him, or was he leaning towards me? It didn’t matter, we were soon
laughing as quietly as we could, hands gripping each other’s forearms.
“I think,” I
said, trying to understand why my voice wouldn’t go any faster. “I think I’m a
little tipsy.”
Charles nodded
gravely, giving me a strange look. “You know what? I think I am too!”
We stared, then
burst into laughter again. Then he ordered another glass of brandy, and one for
me.
I giggled, even
as Charles shushed me. He held onto my arm, to support me, or to support
himself, I don’t know. Somehow, we made it up to my front door, where I began
to fumble for my key.
“I had a
marvelous time, Charles,” I said, dropping the key on the ground.
He bent to get
it, nearly stumbling down the steps as he straightened again. “I got it,” he
slurred.
“You know,
Charles,” I said, leaning heavily on the door. “As you become more inebriated,
you speak like a commoner…”
“And you get all
high-falutin’!” he declared. He paused, making a face. “My God, you’re right. I
sounded like Colonel Potter!”
Tears ran down my
cheeks as I laughed. He reached for the lock, aiming the key carefully, and yet
missing. He got it on the fourth try. When the door opened, I stumbled inside,
seeing that I had been leaning on it, after all.
“I better make
sure you can get inside,” he stated.
“Oh my,” I said,
thankful I hadn’t broken my ankle as I tripped in the heels. “I’m very glad
that Benji is spending the night at your house…I wouldn’t want him seeing his
mother acting like this.”
“Tha’s right!”
Charles exclaimed, getting the key out of the lock and closing the door behind
him. “Poor boy would be tramor…tariz…um, scarred.”
I giggled again,
turning on a light. “It’s so quiet when you’re alone in a house…”
“You’re not
alone, I’m here!” He was leaning back against the door, and I was sure that if
he moved, he’d fall.
“But you’re
leaving!” I pointed out.
He gave me a strange
look. I stared back, realizing that he was asking a silent question: Are you
sure I have to leave? The scary thing was that I wasn’t sure. He straightened
and, to my surprise, made it over to me without collapsing.
“Nellie,” he said
softly, stopping when he was right in front of me. “May I kiss you?”
I was trapped in
his eyes. He took my silence as an affirmative and leaned in. As his lips
touched mine, my eyes closed. He pressed firmly and I felt his arms coming up
around me. I kissed him back, bringing my hand up to cup his cheek. The kiss
deepened and soon I was grasping the back of his head, reveling in the feeling
of the bare skin and short hairs. He broke away and kissed a path to my neck,
where he nipped at the spot under my ear.
I groaned and he
kissed me urgently. The embrace became more and more intense and I was losing
myself in the sensations…
“Nellie…” he whispered.
“Benjamin,” I breathed.
We froze. In seconds, we were parted,
squared off to simply gaze at each other. Sobriety had appeared in the middle
of the haze.
“Oh my God,” he said, touching his
lips. “I’m so sorry…”
“No!” I said as tears welled. “I’m the
one who should be sorry! I can’t believe I said that…”
He was somehow dignified. “I believe
it,” he stated. “There is only one man who can love you the way you want. I am
not him.”
Was he hurt? Did I break something
within him?
“Charles,” I said slowly, this time
knowing it wasn’t the alcohol. “I…”
“No, Nellie,” he replied with a small
smile. “Friends as close as we should not endeavor to become more than what
they are.”
I smiled back, grateful for his
agreement. We were not meant to be lovers. The smile turned into a smirk.
“You sound pompous again,” I pointed
out.
Drawing himself up regally, he sniffed.
“It’s unavoidable. I shall see you tomorrow morning?”
I nodded. And he was gone. I was indeed
alone in the house.
“Dammit, Hawkeye,” I whispered to the
unhearing darkness. “Why do I still love you?”
“Slow…deep
breaths…” I intoned calmly, quietly. Charles sighed contentedly on the small
couch. His face relaxed to one of mischievousness. “Where are you, Charles?’
He giggled.
“Under the bush,’ he whispered. “Mommy can’t see me…”
Nothing that he
hadn’t said his customary “mother”, I asked, “How old are you?”
His fingers
twitched. “I’m six…”
“Charles, can you
tell me what’s going on?”
He began to speak
softer, and his voice turned into a young boy’s. “Mommy is playing with
Honoria. I wanted her to watch me tumble…” His tone became a little bitter.
“She told me to be quiet, so I hid.”
“Are there any
other sounds?” I prodded, wondering where the object of our search was.
“Just Honoria
crying,” he said.
“Why is the baby
crying?”
He made a
triumphant face. “Mommy yelled for me.”
The expression faded to one of distress.
He flinched several times, then yelped. I waited as he calmed somewhat. Tears
rolled down his face.
“`s not fair,” he mumbled.
“Charles, can you tell me what just
happened?”
He sighed heavily, appearing to be on
the verge of tears. “Daddy found me…he yelled at me and gave me a swat…”
“Where are you now?”
He half-shrugged. “My room…I got a new
record player!” He bounced a little. “But all I have to listen to are Daddy’s
records…” Making a face, he groused, “He loaned me two…”
I waited, knowing this was it.
“Guess I’ll try one…”
Watching carefully, I saw the sour look
change into one of awe and wonder.
“Charles…” I said softly, not really
wanting to break the spell. He grunted softly, distracted. “When I snap my
fingers, you will wake up. You’ll remember everything…”
I snapped my fingers. His eyes
fluttered open and he took a moment to focus on me.
“Oh,” he breathed, clearing his throat.
“Nellie…that was incredible! I was there!”
Smiling, I finished my notes. “That’s
the idea of hypnotic regression,” I said, standing. I began to remove the
electrodes from his head. “How are you feeling?”
He paused, taking stock of himself.
“Good. A little refreshed actually…”
“I’d say this was a successful
experiment,” I declared.
“Absolutely!” he agreed.
We set about to record the entire
event. I had all of my notes to type up and organize into a paper to submit,
and he had to write out all of what he had just experienced.
The lab was doing well. We’d set out to
use Music as a therapy, or at least a supplement, and began to realize that not
everyone was susceptible to the calming affect. I hypothesized that if someone
had never had a good experience with music—enjoying the lessons they took,
performing or seeing performances, and things of that sort—then they would be
unlikely candidates for our Therapy. Charles, having a great love of music from
a young age, agreed to be one of the test subjects.
“Do you think our contract will be
renewed?” I asked Charles, nervous.
He paused in his typing. “I honestly
don’t know, Nellie,” he admitted. “We have barely begun, and they want some
kind of results…”
“Hopefully, these latest experiments
will show them that there is something to it all…” I stared down at the papers
before me. “So much work…and it may be all for naught.”
To my surprise, Charles chortled. “My
dear Nellie, you have been my friend for far too long,” he said jovially. “You
are beginning to sound like me.”
“And this time, I’m not drunk!” I
laughed.
Our teasing was interrupted by a firm
knock at the outer door. Charles stood and went to answer. A chill swept over
me and I jumped to my feet.
“Doctor Albritton?” a voice inquired.
“There’s been an accident.”
Oh
God, Benji!
Charles grabbed my arm as I went to run
past. “What happened?” he asked, and I struggled to run.
“Benjamin was just admitted to the
emergency room,” the poor young man said.
Charles released me and I was off. I
don’t remember ever moving that fast in my entire life. Somehow I made it to
the ER in less than two minutes—a trip that should have taken ten.
“Where is Benjamin Albritton?!?” I
demanded from the nurse behind the counter. She gaped at me. “Dammit, where is
my son?!”
“Miss Nellie!” Carol appeared out of
the corner of my eye and I ran to her. She pointed to a small area curtained
off and I was shoving my way past the fabric.
“Benjamin!” I cried, seeing my little
boy on the bed.
“Mommy,” he mumbled.
There was a doctor there, one I knew.
“He’s okay,” he said quickly, knowing I was in a panic. “He’s got a laceration
on his arm, and a small fracture of the ulna.”
“My baby,” I wept, leaning over him
carefully. I touched his head, brushing back the thick black hair. “Carol, what
happened?”
“Oh, m’am,” she said, distressed. “He
took a tumble down the stairs out front…I don’t know wha’ happened! He was
holding me hand an’ suddenly he was fallin’ away fro’ me!”
Hearing the horror in her voice, I
kissed my son on the forehead and went to hug her solidly. She sobbed silently
into my shoulder for a moment, muttering apologies over and over.
“Carol, darlin’,” I said finally. “It
was an accident, it wasn’t something you did or didn’t do…these things happen
with children…”
She seemed reassured, and I found that
I was too. The panic was receding and I realized that the doctor was in the
middle of stitching up the cut on the upper part of Benjamin’s elbow.
“Benji?” Charles finally appeared,
breathing heavily. Seeing that I wasn’t in hysterics, he relaxed, clutching the
curtain tightly in one hand. He looked at the prone figure on the bed. “Oh
thank Heavens…”
“Tony,” I said, finally addressing the
doctor. He glanced up. “Thank you…”
He smiled and shrugged. “My son did the
same thing a dozen times over the years…”
“You mean it gets worse?” I teased.
“Naw,” he replied, cutting the ends off
of the stitching thread. “I think my Tony Junior was just a klutz.”
I was shaking. The intense adrenaline
boost was fading…though my stomach was still in knots.
“We’ll get some bandages to cover the
stitches,” Tony said. “And then a small cast over the wrist…”
“Thank you again, Tony,” I said.
He left, and I went to sit on the edge
of the bed. I couldn’t get enough of just looking at Benjamin. He was my world.
Psychiatry, Musical Therapy,
“I don’t know what I would do without
you,” I whispered to him, though I knew he was sedated and couldn’t hear me.
When they came to do the bandage and
cast, I excused myself and ran to the bathroom. I threw up twice, sobbing and
asking God to protect my son from any harm…
“It itches!”
Benjamin whined, poking at the edge of the cast with one finger.
“One more week,
Mister Benji,” I reminded him. I put a plate in front of him. He sighed and
picked at his food with his left hand. “Eat up, young man.”
“Mommy,” he said,
suddenly serious. His blue eyes looked at me solemnly. “Did you stop working at
the white place ‘cause I got hurt?”
I stared at him,
amazed again at how much he picked up. He really was too smart for his own
good.
“No, Benji,” I
said finally, with a sigh. “I stopped working at the hospital because the
funding for our project was taken away.”
“What’s fun-ding?”
“Money,” I
explained. “You know how you have to have money to buy things?” He nodded.
“Well, sometimes you have to have money to learn things. We were trying to
learn lots of new things, and needed the money to help do that.”
He considered
this, finally eating a piece of bread. “Why don’t you ask Uncle Charles for
money? He has lots.”
I smiled at him.
“Yes, he does.”
“But his daddy
has more.”
Now I laughed.
“Yes, he does!”
“So,” he
continued, chewing on the bread. “Ask Mister W.”
I sighed. “Mr. W
tried to help us get the funding, but they disagreed with him.”
“Why?”
I swallowed my
frustration, knowing that he was getting into that age of never-ending
questions. As I tried to explain the situation in terms that a three year old
could understand, I was suddenly hit with a wave of wanderlust. It had been
years since I’d last traveled—the Winchesters tried to take me to
Benjamin, now
satisfied at the unfairness of his mother’s problems, ate silently. I allowed
my mind to continue on this path, curious to see if a solution was within me.
Where would you go?
Good question. I
could go visit a friend. Not
Crabapple Cove.
I choked on my
milk and coughed. Benjamin hesitated, looking at me.
“I’m okay,” I
said, smiling.
Oh Hawkeye…
“I cannot believe
you are going on a trip with a young child,” Charles said. “Alone!”
“Benji, stop
that,” I scolded, herding my son back to where Charles and I stood in the train
station. “Charles,” I sighed. “I understand your concern, but we’ll be fine.
He glared at me,
unconvinced. “You will be gone for two weeks!”
I laughed. “Charles!
You sound as if I’m abandoning you!”
Now he looked
sheepish, and he gazed down at Benjamin. “I shall miss you both.”
“Uncle Charles!”
Benjamin demanded, holding up his arms.
Charles picked
him up, swinging him higher than necessary and causing a fit of giggles. “Benjamin,
it’s time for you and I to have a man to man talk,” he said. Benjamin nodded,
as if he understood. “While you are traveling, you have to watch over your
mother. Make sure she’s safe and doesn’t do anything stupid, okay?”
Benjamin kissed
him on the cheek, hugging his neck tightly. “Okay, Uncle Charles!” he cried.
“All aboard!!!” a
man’s voice called.
Charles stared at
me, then drew me into the hug. We held each other for a moment, then I pulled
away. Benjamin nearly leapt into my arms, and I turned to tiptoe and kiss
Charles on the cheek. Our bags were already on the train. Taking one last look
at Charles, I went up to board.
Dear Charles,
Benji
and I are being properly cared for in the house of Potter.
I’ve
been taking long walks, alone. It’s a lovely town, Hannibal. The people all
seem to know each other, and when I’m asked who I am…all I need to say is that
I’m
My
walks have become a prized time for my thoughts. And what thoughts I’ve been
having. More and more often, I am thinking about what Benji’s life will be without
ever knowing his father. It’s not right.
I
am going to tell him everything about his father. No names, no real specifics.
But he will know what kind of a man he is: his sense of humor, his love for his
work, his talent, his passion…and that he loved me for the short time we were
together.
And
maybe, someday, Benji and his father will meet.
Much
Love, Nellie
The End