Decisions
Note: This story is based on the episode ‘Peace on Us’. During this episode Margaret finds out that Donald has moved Stateside without her and has to decide whether or not to divorce him. Meanwhile, Hawkeye is angry that the war is going on for so long and gatecrashes some peace talks.
Sitting in Colonel Potter’s office, Margaret Houlihan felt as if she was wound up very tight - if she let herself go for a moment she would just unravel into a little heap on the floor. How could Donald do this to her? She had thought they could work things out, but now he had left for home without her - without even telling her!
Dimly, Margaret realised that Colonel Potter was asking her something. He was asking what she really wanted to do about Donald. Did she want a divorce? Her first instinct was to say yes, she could never recover from this betrayal, never truly trust him again after this.
But then, there were so many reasons to stay with Donald and try again. Who knew if she would ever find another man willing to marry her? Wouldn’t spending her life, however miserably, with Donald, be better than ending her days all alone with no-one at all? And she wasn’t getting any younger, she knew. Margaret had always wanted children but the time had never seemed quite right, but she had begun to realise that her time was running out. And what would people think of her, if she got a divorce? They would say she couldn’t keep a man for five minutes and they would be right.
Margaret knew that Donald hadn’t been everything she had hoped, she knew they had problems that seemed insurmountable, but she could already feel the crushing loneliness that would be her lot if she didn’t stick with him.
She looked up at Colonel Potter.
‘I want to try again with Donald.’ She said with a certainty she didn’t feel.
Margaret was dreaming. She was running as fast as she could, but her legs wouldn’t do as they were told and she could barely put one foot in front of the other. She couldn’t quite remember why she was running, but she knew it was very important that she reached what she was running towards, before it was too late...
Margaret woke suddenly and sat up in her cot. What was that noise? There was someone in her tent! Margaret reached down the side of the cot and her fingers closed around the baseball bat she kept there. You couldn’t be too careful. Yes, there was definitely someone there - they were humming softly.
‘Who’s there?’ Margaret asked.
‘It’s just me.’ Said a little girl’s voice, and then the humming resumed.
Confused, Margaret reached over and lit the lamp on her bedside table. The light it gave was just enough to make out a girl of about six or seven, sitting on the chair and industriously linking the flowers from the vase into a garland.
‘Who are you?’ Margaret said, trying to ignore her heart pounding. Why was she so nervous? It was just a little girl.
The girl grinned. ‘I’m what Sidney Freedman would call your inner child.’
What?’
‘To put it another way, I’m the part of you that knows what you really feel - not what you think you should feel.’
Margaret knew it was crazy, but she felt very inclined to trust this intruder who spoke in a childish voice, but said things that rang very true. The girl put down the garland of flowers and stood up.
‘Come over here.’ She said.
Margaret got out of her cot and tiptoed over, lamp in hand. Now that she was closer, she could see that this truly was a younger version of herself.
‘You’ve been crying.’ Said Little Margaret. ‘Your face is all streaky.’
Margaret rubbed a hand distractedly over her cheek.
‘Never mind that now.’ Said Little Margaret, taking Margaret’s hand away from her face and stretching upwards to put her own hands over Margaret’s eyes.
Margaret felt suddenly dizzy. When Little Margaret uncovered her eyes, the two of them were standing in the corner of a pale beige, immaculately tidy parlour. The little square windows looked out onto rows of identical, boxy houses with identical front lawns that looked as though they had been manicured rather than mown.
‘Where are we?’ Margaret asked.
‘This is our future.’ Said Little Margaret. ‘Look...’
The door opened and two children came in, a girl and a boy. The girl was carrying a large cardboard box full of toy cars, which the two of them began to arrange on the fluffy beige carpet.
‘Are those my children?’ Margaret asked as the children got involved in their game and the toy cars were spread further across the floor.
Little Margaret nodded. The door opened again and Margaret gasped. It was herself - but how different she looked! This Margaret’s hair was almost entirely grey and she looked tired and pale.
‘Put those toys away, your father will be home soon.’ She snapped at the children.
‘But Mommy, we’re in the middle of a game!’ protested the boy. ‘Father won’t be home for half an hour yet. Come and play - please?’
The older Margaret considered, then smiled and sat down on the floor with the children.
‘What are you playing?’ she asked.
As they played, Margaret and Little Margaret watched.
‘This seems kind of nice.’ Said Margaret. ‘A good house, nice children, a... a husband...’
She paused as they heard thundering footsteps outside the room and the door crashed open. A boy not older than fourteen but tall and broad for his age stomped into the room.
‘What the hell’s this?’ he demanded.
‘Hello, Donny.’ Said the older Margaret, her smile fading. ‘We were just playing a game.’
‘Don’t call me Donny, Mother; it’s such a childish name!’
‘I’m sorry, Donald Junior.’
The older Margaret was standing now, but the boy still towered over her.
‘This room is a mess!’ he shouted in her face and she winced. ‘And how does my father like things?’
‘He likes things to be tidy.’ She whispered.
‘And don’t you forget it!’
He left, slamming the door behind him. The older Margaret took a deep breath and began to pick up the toy cars with shaking hands.
‘Come on!’ she said, with a lopsided smile at the children. ‘Let’s see how fast we can put all of the toys back in the box!’
‘Why is Donny so mean?’ the girl asked as she piled the cars into the box.
‘He used to like us.’ Said the boy, placing the last car in the box and taking the box to the door.
‘Don’t worry about it; I guess he’s just growing up.’ Said the older Margaret as the children carried the box out of the room. ‘And he gets more like his father every day.’ She added to herself, once they were out of earshot.
Before Margaret could think about this, a flash blinded her and a few moments later her vision returned and showed her a different scene. It was the same room, but evening now with the curtains closed and lights on. The older Margaret was sitting tensely on the edge of a chair, opposite, Margaret was not surprised to see, and older Donald Penobscott.
‘Donald, have you thought much about the children lately?’ the older Margaret asked.
‘What about them?’ said Donald, not even looking up from the broadsheet he was reading.
‘Well, do you think you’re spending enough time with them?’
‘I see them at dinner every day, Margaret.’
‘Yes, but you never speak to them. You’re so cold and unloving towards them and it makes them upset. Couldn’t you try a little harder to be affectionate towards them sometimes?’ Her voice had risen as she spoke and her tone had become more desperate.
Donald still didn’t look up from his paper. ‘Margaret, I won’t have this silliness. You’re their mother - you show them affection. Now I don’t want to hear about this again. Hmm?’
‘Yes, Donald.’ Said the older Margaret.
‘What?’ cried Margaret, watching incredulously from the corner. ‘Why doesn’t she stand up for herself? What’s wrong with her?’
‘She’s given up.’ Said Little Margaret. ‘And so will you, eventually.’
‘No! It’s not going to happen like that! I’ll work things out with Donald, we’ll be happy...’
‘Staying with Donald won’t make you happy.’ Said Little Margaret. ‘But there is something that will. Your future could be so different to the things we just saw.’
Without stopping to explain Little Margaret grabbed Margaret’s hands and spun her around. The beige parlour melted and gave way to a room completely different in character.
This room was a large kitchen, with walls painted bright yellow and dotted all over with children’s paintings. The room was empty for the moment but showed signs of recent activity - the table was covered with flour and scattered with cookie cutters, while a smell of baking came from the oven.
Margaret could hear noises coming from nearby and suddenly the door burst open and several children flew in at once. They were all singing ‘cookies, cookies’ at the top of their voices to the tune of ‘Clementine’.
‘Hold on, hold on!’ called a woman’s voice.
Another Margaret entered. This Margaret didn’t look so old as the last one and she was grinning, despite the fact that she had flour in her hair.
‘Look,’ she began, ‘I know it’s all very exciting to be making cookies, but if you keep opening the oven to check on them every few minutes they’ll never be ready.’
‘Never ever?’ asked one of the children, wide-eyed.
‘That’s right. So why don’t you all come and help me make up the beds ready for when your cousins arrive?’
‘That’s a good idea.’ Said a boy.
‘They must be so excited to be coming to Maine!’ said another, as they all left the room.
Margaret and Little Margaret watched them go.
‘Maine?’ Margaret said to herself.
She could feel her pulse racing - only one person she knew came from Maine. Could it be?
A door opened in some distant part of the house and a familiar voice called:
‘Honey, I’m home!’
Margaret was sure her heart actually stopped for a moment when she heard his voice.
Several feet could be heard running down the stairs. Someone was shouting ‘Daddy, we made cookies, come and look!’
The footsteps headed back into the kitchen and Hawkeye Pierce entered with a child hanging on to each arm and more trailing behind.
‘Cookies, huh?’ he was saying, trying to give each child an equal amount of hugs.
The other Margaret entered and beamed at the older Hawkeye. ‘Nice day, darling?’ she asked.
‘Yeah, that transplant went really well. How about you?’
‘Oh, well, I guess they told you we made cookies. And the Zimmermans are coming to dinner on Thursday.’
‘The Zimmermans? You’re kidding?’
She shrugged.
‘I know you don’t like them, but they’re very respected members of the community.’
‘The Zimmermans? Margaret, how could you?’
‘Well, I thought you’d rather that than having dinner over at their place!’
‘I’d rather not have to see them at all!’
Watching from the corner, Margaret felt tears in the corners of her eyes as the argument escalated. This was almost worse than being cowed and submissive married to Donald.
‘Maybe I should give up now and join a convent!’ she said to Little Margaret, trying not to cry.
‘Oh, go boil your head!’ the other Margaret shouted to Hawkeye.
‘Maybe I will!’ he called back, leaving the kitchen and slamming the door behind him.
The other Margaret raised her eyebrows at his retreating back then moved over to the oven to check on the cookies.
‘Mommy,’ said one of the children, ‘Why do you and Daddy fight?’
‘Well,’ she said, lifting the tray out of the oven, ‘It pays to keep a man on his toes. And of course after you fight you get all the fun of making up.’
‘So you’re not really mad at Daddy?’
‘Only a little bit, since I’m going to win. I always do.’ She grinned at the child.
Sure enough, a few minutes later Hawkeye re-entered with a bunch of hastily picked flowers and a contrite expression.
‘I’m sorry I yelled, Margaret.’ He said. He kissed her on the cheek and tucked one of the flowers into her hair.
‘I’m sorry too.’ She said, taking the flowers and wrapping her arms around him to kiss him warmly on the mouth. ‘You know I love you.’
‘I love you too, Margaret.’
Margaret was still watching in a state of delighted shock when Little Margaret tugged at her sleeve and said: ‘I think we’ve seen enough.’
The happy kitchen faded and Margaret found herself back in her dark tent.
‘Go to sleep, Margaret.’ Said Little Margaret. ‘You can put everything right in the morning.’
Margaret climbed into her cot and didn’t even think it strange when Little Margaret tucked her in and kissed her on the forehead. She fell asleep immediately.
‘Margaret, Margaret!’
Margaret awoke to the sound of someone hammering on her tent door. She was less irritated than she should have been, somehow, and she could still feel the brush of a childish pair of lips on her forehead.
‘Who is it?’ she called, pulling on a robe.
‘It’s me, BJ. We’re planning a bit of a surprise for Hawkeye when he gets back from the peace talks. Want in?’
‘Just give me a second to get dressed. What kind of surprise?’ she called, pulling on her uniform.
‘Well, just before he left he was telling me how fed up he is with khaki. So we figured we could all dye something red to wear for when he gets back.’
‘Sounds great. You know, we could all dye our hair red too!’
‘Hey, I never thought of that!’ BJ grinned a greeting as she stepped out of the tent.
‘Shh, shh, he’s coming!’
The mess tent quietened as Hawkeye’s jeep approached, then came to a stop. BJ went outside to greet Hawkeye, and they heard his expression of surprise as he saw BJ dressed entirely in red, with red hair to match.
They erupted into a loud cheer as the returning hero entered the tent and greeted everyone. Margaret went to give him a welcome back hug, along with everyone else. Only he noticed that she clung to him slightly harder and longer than the others.
He was glad to hear that she was divorcing Donald, and she wished she could tell him that it was all because of him. But there was time enough for that, she thought, as she watched him with a smile.
Maybe she wasn’t ready just yet for another relationship, so soon after deciding to divorce Donald. But she could imagine the day when she would be.
The End.
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