Alternate Ending: So Much For My Happy Ending?

by tonygirl

Self explanatory. For all you folks who really WANTED it to turn out differently! And, I guess I might have, too, if I wrote an alternate ending, huh?

For all of you who wanted Jessie to end up with Radar, . . . TA DA! This is for you. It picks up after Chapter 27 when she finally breaks down on Charles after getting the letter from Radar. I did not split it up into chapters because, frankly, it was too tedious. It's proofed some, so keep in mind you will probably see mistakes. So, pour youself your beverage of choice and sit and read a spell. - tonygirl

PS: I STILL do not own anything, except for Jessie, of course.

*******************************************

Jessie struggled the next few weeks. She never brought up Radar to anyone, but she did allow her comrades to give her words of encouragement. She would smile, thank whoever it was and change the subject. Although she tried hard to go about her daily routine, determined she would not be beaten by one little letter from Iowa, her friends noticed a change. She never sang, not even to the wounded. It was harder to make her laugh or even smile. Not that any of them gave up trying. They just tried harder.

Jessie spent a lot of time with Charles. He taught her how to play chess, which she hated, and she convinced him to play poker with her and the nurses, which he hated. They spent a lot of time talking about music, but he never could convince her to sing. They rarely spoke of Radar. The few times he brought him up, Jessie would clam up and get a steely look in her eyes. He hated to see that haunted appearance when she thought no one was looking. Determined, Charles sat down one day and wrote a letter to one of his father's friends back home, a friend that owed his father a huge favor.

A week later, Daniel Bledsole arrived at the 4077th, a little shell-shocked from the change from high society to Korea. Charles met him as he lit from the jeep.

"Daniel, it's so good to see you!" Charles said, shaking the older gentleman's hand. "Thanks for coming on such short notice."

Daniel looked around, scratching his grey hair. "This is where you live?"

Charles chuckled at the older man's expression. "Home, sweet home," Charles said, leading Daniel to the VIP tent. "This is where you'll stay while you're here."

Daniel was relieved to see at least the tent looked clean. "Now, where's this Texas prima donna you keep telling me about?" he said, loosening his tie. "You have me traveling thousands of miles, so she better be as good as you say."

"You'll meet her in time. First, get freshened up. Oh, and when you meet her, don't tell her why you're here. I want you to hear her first."

Daniel looked confused. "Sure," he said, hoping this trip wasn't for naught.

"You'll love her, I know. Want to sign her on the spot, I'm sure," Charles said as he exited the tent. If we can get her to sing.

He decided to enlist the help of Col. Potter, who was a little skeptical. "You think you can order her to?" Charles said, sitting in the CO's office.

Col. Potter thought hard. "I don't know, Major. You know as well as I do that she doesn't take such orders in stride. Been a little prickly lately, too." He propped his feet on his desk. "I just don't think she's goin' to cotton to you planning her future for her."

Charles looked at the Colonel, a little exasperated. "I'm not trying to plan anything for her. I just hate to see such talent go to waste. At least, if we get her back to singing, maybe she'll be a little . . .happier."

Col. Potter chuckled. "Son, a broken heart isn't something singing can cure. All she needs is time."

Klinger rushed into the office. "Colonel, you're not going to believe this!" he said, clutching a sheet of paper.

"Klinger, can't you see I'm in the middle of something?" Col. Potter bellowed, setting his feet firmly underneath his desk.

Klinger waved the Colonel off. "Sir, you've got to read this! Jessie's going home!"

"What?" Colonel Potter and Charles said in unison.

"Give me that," Charles said, snatching the memo from Klinger, hastily reading the order they all dreamed of. "Well, I'll be damned." He handed it to Col. Potter."Klinger, tell Jessie to get to my office, on the double."

Klinger saluted smartly and ran out, excited for Jessie.

Col. Potter eyed Charles, surprised at the melancholy look on his face. "OK, Major, I think I have a way for your Mr. Bledsole to get what he wants. I'll just tell her that a farewell concert is in order. I'm sure she'll do it one last time for us, don't you?"

Charles brightened considerably. "Thank you so much, Colonel," he said, shaking the CO's hand.

"Now, scram," the Colonel said.

*********************************

Home! Jessie couldn't believe it! She could already see the acres and acres of farmland and the large house sitting back in the trees. All of her family's faces swam through her mind, and she found herself tearing up. She looked around at the boxes stacked around the tent and wondered how she could accumulate so much stuff. Most of it would be given away. She didn't care to have too many memories from this place. She already had the scars to prove she had been here, physical and emotional.

She fanned herself with a book as she packed. This heat was going to kill her before she even got home! She sighed when she looked at the clock. Col. Potter had wheedled her into singing at her farewell party. She didn't really want to. She kept thinking back to the talent show she was coaxed into performing when she had to wear the slinky red number that Klinger had sewn. Of course, that led to thoughts of Radar, and she wasn't strong enough for that just yet.

Jessie sang her heart out that night in the overcrowded tent. The temperature had been unbearable, even at night, and the fans did little to alleviate the heat. She chose upbeat songs. Someone requested the song she sang first at the talent show, "What's Your Mama's Name?" but she lied and said she couldn't remember the words.

After the first number, Daniel leaned over to Charles. "Son, you're right! She is wonderful, just wonderful! And all that red hair, too!"

Charles tried to be jovial, thinking how happy Jessie would be. Ever since he received the news that she would be leaving, he found himself realizing how much he would miss her. It scared him.

He waved Jessie over as she was taking a break. Jessie smiled politely as she was introduced. B.J., Hawkeye and Charles watched curiously from the other end of the table.

"So, what brings you to our neck of the woods, Mr. Bledsole?" she asked, taking a large gulp of water Klinger had brought her. She thought it strange that a civilian would be in camp, although it was not uncommon.

"Well, Ms. Callahan, I actually came to see you, at the request of Charles." Jessie gave the man a confused look and looked over at Charles.

Daniel gave her a business card. "You see, I own Bledsole Recording Studios. We contract and record for many of the famous singers. Country, easy listening, jazz, you name it, we record it."

Jessie gave the man a guarded look, but he continued on. "I'd like to offer you a contract, Ms. Callahan."

Instead of the excitement that he usually received from those words, all he received from Jessie was an icy stare. She rose from the table, giving Charles an equally chilly look.

"I'm sorry Mr. Bledsole that you had to come all this far for nothing, but I'm not interested." She stuck out her hand, and Daniel took it, a little shocked at her reaction. But, he was not to be deterred.

"Listen, may I call you Jessie?" Jessie nodded curtly, and he continued. "Just sleep on it tonight. You don't leave until tomorrow afternoon. Come see me before you leave, and let me know what you think."

Jessie could feel all eyes at the table on her. "I'll think about it, Mr. Bledsole, but that's all I guarantee. I still think you came out here for nothing."

"That's all I ask," Daniel said. "I'll see you tomorrow morning, then."

With a glare at Charles, Jessie walked away. Before she got far, a group of nurses accosted her, demanding that she open her gifts.

The party lasted to the wee hours of the morning. Jessie laughed and cried with her friends. One of her favorite going-away gifts was a scrapbook from the nurses. Jessie couldn't help but tear up when she thumbed through it. She hugged Kelleye, who was the closest to her.

"Oh, girls, this is so sweet of all of you," she sniffed as she hugged the book to her. "I'm going to miss all of you."

Jessie was exhausted when she walked to her tent. The party was still going strong, but Jessie feigned tiredness. Thunder rumbled off in the distance, and she hoped it would rain to alleviate some of the heat. She changed into cut-off shorts and a tank-top in her tent and turned on a little table fan that she had manage to get from home, which only stirred the stuffy air. Flopping on the edge of her cot, she picked up the book. It was actually a nurses' manual, one they were all familiar with. Inside, the girls had pasted pictures and mementoes. Jessie laughed aloud when she saw some of them. In one, the girls were all wearing kimonos and, arms linked, were singing into the camera. There was also one of Klinger dressed up like Dorothy, which made Jessie snicker.

Her heart jolted when she turned the page. It was a picture from a poker game. Jessie didn't particularly remember the game itself, but she was sitting in Radar's lap, her arm draped around his neck. They were both studying the cards in his hand. She swallowed hard and turned the page. Not a day went by that she didn't think about him. She allowed herself a moment of self-pity. But, only a moment.

She jumped when a clap of thunder sounded nearby. The storm was getting closer. Jessie glanced down at the page and saw another picture of her and Radar. She softly closed the book, placing it in her open suitcase. She couldn't handle it now. Maybe later. Much, much later.

A brisk knock jolted her out of her thoughts. Before she could open her mouth to ask who it was, Charles barged into her tent.

"How can you be so ungrateful?" Charles immediately demanded.

Jessie jumped up from her cot, on the defensive.

"I talked the man into coming his far, and for what? For you to stick your nose up in the air and tell him no?"

"How dare you come into my tent and say those things!" Jessie said, crossing her sweaty arms in front of her. Lightening flashed outside, and the thunder rumbled close behind. "You know, Charles, you're not the boss of everyone!" She glared back at him.

Charles wiped the sweat from his forehead angrily. "I do one nice thing for you. The least you could do is be grateful about it. I thought . . ."

Jessie interrupted. "If you thought hard enough, you would know that I'm not going to have you – of all people! - plan my future for me!"

Charles moved closer to her. They were standing almost toe-to-toe. She smelt booze on his breath when she peered up at him.

"Why must you be so difficult?" he hissed. "You have a beautiful voice, and you should use it."

Jessie poked him in the chest with her finger. "You mean I should use it like you think I should. Well, let me tell you something Charles Emerson Winchester the Third, I'm not here for you to boss around and control my life! If I sing, it will be how and when I want to sing. Not when you or anyone else tells me I can!"

Charles rolled his eyes. "Oh please! At least I want you to cultivate your voice. All O'Reilly would have done was had you singing to the cows, and maybe a church social or two."

Jessie slapped Charles so hard, he staggered backwards a step. Lightening struck something nearby, and the sound of the thunder deafened them both.

"You leave him out of this," she whispered hotly. She blinked a couple of times, the lightening flashes temporarily blinding her. So, she didn't see him coming.

She yelped when he grabbed her shoulders tightly, closing the distance between them, wriggling slightly in his strong grasp and started to protest.

Without warning, Charles leaned down and kissed her roughly. Jessie could taste the booze on his breath and struggled to free herself. But, he just held her tighter and kissed her harder.

Jessie's mind was reeling, but the feel of his mouth on hers blocked out everything else, even the storm raging outside. She stopped resisting and wrapped her arms around his neck. She knew it wasn't right, but didn't stop him when they fell onto her bunk.

**********************************

The first thing Jessie noticed was it was cooler. The storm from the night before had blown itself out, and sun shone through the dingy window onto the floor. Jessie reached for a blanket at the foot of her bed, but it wasn't there.

Oh yeah, I packed it.

The night before flooded back to her, and she looked around for Charles. He was no where to be found.

Girl, what have you done?

She blushed as it all came back to her. Struggling to her feet, she rummaged around in her suitcase for a brush and started untangling her hair, wanting to have something to do to keep her mind off the night before.

She jumped when someone knocked on her door. Frantically, she threw on a bathrobe.

"Come in!" she said, a little forcibly. God, I hope it's not Charles . . .

It was Daniel Bledsole, looking well-rested and hopeful. Jessie's eyes widened in surprise, and she glanced at the clock. Already 10 a.m.!

"Mr. Bledsole . . ." she started.

He held up his hand. "Really, Jessie, it's Daniel."

Jessie smiled at him hesitantly. "OK, Daniel, I apologize for my appearance."

Daniel returned her smile. "Oh, there's no need. Everyone seemed to have partied a little too much last night. It was your farewell party, after all."

Jessie pulled her robe and little closer around her.

Daniel cleared his throat. "Before you give me an answer, I want to tell you that I know you can be famous. You have a pose and grace onstage, even onstage in a place such as this, that makes audiences eat out of your hand. No matter what genre of music you choose, I know that's you'll be the biggest thing that ever hit it." He smiled grandly at Jessie. "Hell, even in a bathrobe after a night of partying, you are the prettiest thing in Korea. Radiant, almost."

"Enough of the compliments," she said, laughing. "A girl can only take so much!"

Daniel watched her closely, wondering why the laughter never quite seemed to reach her eyes. He figured this place had that affect on people after awhile.

Jessie cleared her throat. "I want to apologize for my brusque attitude last night. Honestly, the idea of performing professionally had never crossed my mind. I think your proposal just . . . startled me, that's all."

Daniel began to feel his spirits sore. "You mean, you're going with me?"

Jessie was glad he had confidence in her because she sure questioned her sanity at taking him up on his proposal.

She shrugged. "I thought about it and decided why not? I have nothing to lose. After being here, I think I'll be bored out of my mind after one week at home." And I'll go crazy thinking about a farmer in Iowa . . .

Daniel grabbed Jessie and hugged her briefly, surprising her. Then, he clapped his hands together. "Great! Let's get down to business then!"

They spent the rest of the morning discussing contracts.

Before Jessie realized it, she was packed and ready to go. All that was left in the tent were cobwebs. Jessie stepped into the sunshine and looked at her watch. Her jeep wasn't due for another 30 minutes, so she wandered around camp with her small suitcase. She walked into post-op and made her tearful good-byes to the nurses. Jessie was surprised when Margaret even hugged her briefly.

Jessie sauntered out of post-op and stood at the door looking around camp. She studied all the worn-out, shabby looking tents and buildings and watched daily life at the 4077th go by. All this time, she still expected Radar to walk around the corner, paperwork in hand and give her a huge smile, the one he always gave her no matter what time of day or night he saw her. She smiled wistfully, ignoring the lump in her throat.

Tugging the coat of her uniform closer to her body against the breeze, she briefly wondered where Charles was.

Jessie sauntered across camp and into the Swamp. She was showered with congratulations from Hawkeye and B.J.

"We heard you accepted the contract with Bledsole!" B.J. said, giving her a bear hug. He stepped back and shook his finger at her. "Now, don't forget all of us lowly doctors when you become a big star."

Jessie smiled and hugged B.J. again. "Oh, I could never forget any of you, not in a million years," she replied honestly.

"Hey, where's my hug?" Hawkeye said, pretending to pout next to B.J.

Jessie held him tight, then found herself crying. "Damn, I swear I never cried before coming here. This place has done something to my waterworks," she said, scrubbing at her face. "I'm going to really miss you guys."

"We'll miss you, too," Hawkeye said. He handed her a glass of homemade gin. "How about one for the road?"

Jessie took the offered glass and held it up. "To friends. Too bad we had to meet here, but at least we met somewhere."

"Cheers," they said in unison, and all three of them swallowed.

Jessie shivered at the taste, handing the glass to Hawkeye. "I do know one thing. Whenever I taste bad booze, I'll think of you."

Hawkeye laughed and put down his glass. "Speaking of booze, old Charles wasn't too happy with you last night after you ruined his well-laid plans for you. He drank a gallon of gin, then disappeared." Hawkeye gestured towards Charles's bunk. "Never came home last night, either. Where do you suppose he went?"

Jessie fiddled with her glass, a little worried. "You mean you haven't seen him all morning?"

B.J. shrugged. "Nope. Did you two fight?"

Jessie made a face. "That's another thing I'm not going to miss around here. Nosiness! Yeah, we fought. He came to my tent, a little drunk, accusing me of ruining his plans for my life."

"Did you throw him out?" B.J. asked. "I wonder where the rat's been sleeping it off?"

Jessie sighed. "No, I didn't throw him out," she said carefully. "But, I probably should have."

B.J. eyed her closely. "What do you mean, you should have?"

"Weellll . . ."

"You slept with him, didn't you?"

Hawkeye, sipping the last of his gin, choked. "You what? You mean, you won't even let me kiss you, but you slept with Charles?"

"It just sort of . . .happened," Jessie said, absently playing with her necklace. "He was mad, I was mad, it was hot and sticky and storming." She shrugged. "You get the picture."

She turned at the sound of a jeep pulling up outside. Daniel was merrily lugging his luggage out to the waiting jeep, ready to leave this dump of a place.

She turned back towards the doctors. "I wanted to tell him good-bye and maybe I'm sorry for giving him the wrong idea. He was drunk, and I was lonely. It didn't really mean anything. I don't even think he knows that I took Daniel up on his offer."

B.J. gestured outside the tent. "Oh, I think he knows."

Jessie followed his gaze. Charles, appearing from God knows where, was saying good-bye to his friend. Daniel was exaggerating wildly with his hands, looking pleased with himself.

Jessie sighed. "Well, guys, looks like I'm off." She used her free hand to wipe her eyes. "I just can't figure out why I'm crying because of leaving. It's all we ever wanted, and yet, I'm sad. Maybe they should have let me out on a section 8!"

"Klinger would be jealous!" Hawkeye said, following her outside the tent.

"I suppose feeling sad is part of the process," B.J. pointed out. "A large chapter of your life is coming to an end."

"Yeah, a lot happened to all of us here, didn't it?"

"But, what doesn't kill you makes you stronger, right?" Hawkeye said, draping his arm over her shoulder.

"I suppose you're right," Jessie mumbled.

If she wasn't deep in thought, she would have noticed the look that went between B.J. and Hawkeye. Without warning, Hawkeye swept her off her feet in one of his famous embraces, B.J. laughing merrily beside them. Those in the compound applauded.

When Hawkeye broke off the kiss and stood Jessie back up, she staggered a bit. "Now you can say you've kissed every nurse in camp."

Hawkeye winked at her. "Sure can, sweetheart. Now go knock 'em dead."

She hugged B.J. one last time. "Sorry about Radar. I wish that it could have turned out different."

The pain flared in Jessie's chest, and she struggled to push it back down.

Jessie turned towards the jeep, but Charles was gone. After more good-byes, none quite as physical as Hawkeye's - for which Jessie was grateful - she climbed tearfully into the waiting jeep. Daniel was eager to be on his way. She brushed a strand of hair out of her face and turned to wave.

Before the driver had gone a few feet, Jessie saw Charles leaning against the mess tent, watching.

"Stop!" she yelled to the driver. He slammed on brakes so hard that Daniel's luggage flew into the windshield.

Jessie jumped out of the jeep and ran to Charles, who looked ready to bolt, throwing her arms around him.

"Good-bye, Charles," she whispered into his ear. "And thanks."

She started to say something about last night, but when she once again looked into his blue eyes, she was stunned. Judging from the pain and longing she saw, Jessie knew that last night had meant more to him than it did to her. She kept her mouth shut, but reached up and kissed him softly on the cheek.

"You're welcome," he replied softly.

Jessie turned and ran back to the jeep. She climbed aboard and with a final wave was gone.

Hawkeye and B.J. ambled over to Charles as he idly watched the spot where Jessie's jeep had disappeared around the bend.

"You didn't tell her, did you?" Hawkeye said.

"Tell her what?" Charles asked absently.

"Tell her you loved her," Hawkeye replied.

Instead of the adamant denial he expected, Hawkeye was surprised at his answer.

"No, I didn't," Charles replied, still watching the horizon. "I just realized it myself, honestly. Besides, she doesn't love me, won't ever love me. It wouldn't work. She hates high society, remember?" Charles sighed painfully. "Besides, you know who she'll always love."

B.J. clapped him on the back. "Your parents wouldn't approve of a singer for their son, anyway," he said, leading Charles away. "But, boy she would have looked good on your arm at those fancy parties!"

Charles didn't reply. He had had those same exact thoughts.

**********************************

Father Mulcahy rushed into the bustling OR. "Someone turn on the radio quick!"

"Suture scissors," B.J. said. The nurse dutifully handed him his tool. "Who is it? McArthur? Are they announcing a truce?"

"Too bad they didn't tell these guys first," Hawkeye replied scornfully from the next table.

One of the orderlies turned on the radio and fiddled with the tuning knob.

"There! Stop right there! Turn it up!" the Father said. The sound of Jessie's voice filled the stagnant OR.

They erupted into cheers.

"Hawk, you owe me $20," B.J. yelled over the buzz.

"Twenty dollars? For what?" Charles asked from across the room.

"We bet which kind of music she'd sing. I picked country and western," B.J. said. "Hawkeye picked opera, of all things."

Charles glanced up at Hawkeye. "Opera? You wouldn't know opera if it hit you in the face."

Hawkeye grinned. "Thank God, yes," he replied, suturing a wound as he talked. "But, whatever she chose, I know she'd be the best."

**************************************

Radar wearily walked into the kitchen. He brushed off his dusty clothes at the door, then went to wash his hands before he ate.

"Hey, where is everybody?"

He could hear the radio from the front of the house and walked through the darkened hallway.

"It's American Bandstand," Maryanne replied. "There's a new girl on, and she's unbelievable!"

Radar was taking a big gulp of water when he got within earshot. He immediately choked. Maryanne jumped up as fast as she could, which wasn't very since she was seven months pregnant.

"Walter, are you OK?" she said, thumping him on the back and taking the water glass from his hand. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

Mrs. O'Reilly watched Radar from across the room while she knitted, but remained silent.

"N-no, I'm fine," he managed to stammer.

Jessie! On the radio!

Maryanne maneuvered him to the couch. "Here, sit."

Jessie's song ended to wild applause from the audience. She immediately launched into another one.

Maryanne's toe was tapping as she sat down next to Radar. "I saw a picture of her in a magazine. She's got the most beautiful head of hair you ever saw!" she said, playing with her straight brown locks. Maryanne was always buying the magazines at the check-out counter, which drove Radar's mom crazy. "It also said she was a nurse in Korea, in your outfit. Did you know her?" She shook the magazine at him, and Jessie's green eyes smiled up at him, another shock to his system.

Maryanne's comments didn't quite register. Hearing Jessie, even on the radio, forced all the feelings he thought he had pushed aside, to the surface. Maryanne shook his shoulder gently. "Hey, did you hear me?"

"What?" he said absently.

"I said, did you know her, Jessie Callahan, I think is her name?" she said gesturing to the radio. She squeezed his arm as she talked, but he hardly noticed. His mother had stopped knitting and was watching him.

"Umm, yeah," he said, hoping his sadness didn't show. He had put up everything that reminded him of Jessie, every picture, letter and memento and packed it away in the attic. He pulled out the ring and almost pawned it, but added it to the box before it was banished to the attic as well. He thought hiding all the memories would help his own soul heal.

It hadn't.

Maryanne's eyes brightened. "Maybe you can get us tickets! She's coming to Sioux City in a couple of weeks! Hey, maybe you can even get us backstage!" She watched Radar hopefully.

No, I don't think she'd want to meet the girl I married instead of her.

He stopped at Maryanne's adoring gaze. She had been a good wife, and she was trying hard to pick up farm living. Her father didn't come around, for which Radar was glad. It seemed he was more worried about ruining his own name than hers, and he seemed glad to be rid of her, a fact that bothered Radar quite a bit.

He cleared his throat. "Uh, it was a big camp. We only . . .ran into each other a few times," he replied shakily.

His mother raised her eyebrow at his comment and resumed knitting. Maryanne's face fell, but he didn't notice. His thoughts were a million miles away.

*********************************************

Jessie's life was hectic, to say the least. She was in the recording studio within a week of returning to the States. Her first and second albums went straight to number one on the charts, and her concerts scattered across the country kept her constantly on the move. The fans loved her, and she appeared on the covers of global magazines and newspapers.

At first, her father was appalled, which Jessie expected. It was not a proper lifestyle for a young lady. But, he soon enjoyed the attention that came with having a famous daughter.

Jessie tried to visit her family as often as she could, but she found herself so busy that she only visited a few times a year.

It was during one of those visits that she found herself, Johnny and Mattie in the attic.

"So, how much furniture are you going to need in this new mansion of yours? Can't you afford your own?" Johnny said, sneezing.

Jessie wiped a layer of dust off a dresser, rolling her eyes at her brother. Living out of hotel rooms had finally grown tiring, and she had bought a large house in Virginia for the few times she had time to herself. "I want a few things of Mother's," she retorted. She spotted a small table that her mother used in her bedroom. "There's one. Be a good brother and haul it downstairs."

Johnny rolled his eyes, but picked it up and hefted it in the air. He set it by the door to the attic with the other items Jessie wanted. Mattie was rummaging through a trunk, looking for some knick-knacks. She popped up with some candlesticks.

"Jess, you have to take these," she said, wiping them on her apron. "Remember, they used to sit over the fireplace in Ms. Rebecca's room."

Jessie found herself getting nostalgic. There were the toys that she, Andrea and Johnny used to play with and a lot of their clothes that had survived over the years. One carton in the corner she didn't recognize.

"Hey, y'all can go back down. I just want to look and see what's in here, first," she said. She knelt down beside the box and pried open the lid as Mattie and Johnny clambered down the attic stairs, their arms full.

Jessie's breath caught in her throat. Gingerly, she picked up Ronnie the pony, a little dusty from storage, but otherwise in good shape and stared at him. She slowly laid him on the floor and reached for a frame. Turning it over, she felt tears sting her eyes. It was a small group picture taken outside the mess tent with a few of the people in camp. Everyone else was smiling dutifully at the camera, but Jessie, on the front row, had her face turned towards Radar behind her. They were smiling at each other. Jessie swallowed a lump in her throat and cursed.

She glanced in the crate and saw a photo booth strip. She picked it up and chuckled. It was one they had done while in Tokyo after Radar had been hurt.

"Child, you OK?" Mattie said, touching her shoulder.

Jessie jumped, almost dropping the frame. She caught it before it hit the floor. "Oh, Mattie, you scared me!" She started putting things back in the crate hurriedly, not meeting Mattie's eyes. "I'm OK, really."

Mattie put her hands on her hips. "Jessamyn Callahan, you look at me! Don't you lie to me!"

Jessie stopped refilling the crate and slowly raised her eyes to her longtime friend. A tear slipped down her face, making a dusty trail on her cheek.

"Oh, baby!" Mattie said, falling carefully to her knees. She grabbed Jessie and hugged her to her amble bosom.

Jessie sniffed. "I just found this crate over here and didn't know what it was," Jessie said, pulling from Mattie's embrace and wiping her eyes. "It was the one I sent home from Korea after . . .." She trailed off. She had never told Mattie what had happened. The only one who knew was Johnny, but he was the only one who really knew the extent of her relationship with Radar.

Mattie settled on the floor with a thump, still stroking Jessie's hair. "You know, you kept writing to me in all your letters about this boy you had taken up with." Jessie sniffed and leaned her head on Mattie's shoulder. "Then, suddenly," Mattie snapped her fingers, "you didn't mention him again. When you came home, I expected you to make a beeline for Iowa, but you didn't." She put her finger under Jessie's chin and raised her head. "What happened over there, Jessamyn?"

Jessie told her. Mattie listened intently until she was done.

"Child, child," was all she could say.

Jessie played with the tissue in her hands. "I can't say that I don't think of him often because I do." She leaned against the crate. "But, instead of a sharp pain in the pit of my stomach, it's more like a dull ache. That is, until I opened this box." She thumped it with a well-manicured nail. "Seeing all these brought back things I've tried so, so hard to forget!"

Mattie took Jessie's hand in hers. "Child, you will live with those memories for the rest of your life. And, they'll probably hurt for the rest of your life, too. But, so many people never have what you had, even for a little while."

Jessie brushed away another tear. "I know, Mattie." She rose from the floor and helped Mattie up slowly.

"Fifty chairs in this house, and I go and sit on the floor," Mattie mumbled, making Jessie laugh.

Johnny popped up from the attic door. "Hey, anything else I need to lug down these stairs?"

Jessie wiped the dust from her pants. "Yeah, take this box down, will you?" she said, motioning towards the crate from Korea.

"Oh, your boyfriend just called," Johnny said.

Jessie slugged him in the arm as he walked by. "Paul is not my boyfriend, he's my manager," Jessie said, annoyed. She squinted at the bright light shining from the attic door. "Plus, he's like 15 years older than me."

Johnny rolled his eyes as he hefted the crate. "The guy practically worships the ground you walk on, Jess." He walked precariously to the door and cautiously walked down the stairs, followed by Mattie. Jessie was waiting at the bottom.

"I don't know, Jess, he does seem pretty smitten to me," Mattie said, huffing at the bottom of the stairs. "When you say jump, he says 'how high?', that's for sure." Mattie put her hands on her hips at the sound of children screaming from the first floor. "Lawd, you'd think Ms. Andrea could control those young'ns better than that. They better not have messed up my kitchen."

********************************************

Jessie was perched at her desk going through some paperwork. It was rare that she had time at her home in the Virginia mountains. Although she had owned it for two years, she hadn't spent much time there. She had the entire house remodeled, except for the office. Her office was quite masculine with dark mahogany paneling and drapes, but Jessie thought it suit her just fine and didn't change much about it.

"Hey, Jess, I'm starving! I ordered us a pizza," Paul said, coming around the corner. He stopped in awe in her office. "Wow!" he said, gazing at the 20 foot wood-paneled ceilings. "I can't believe you don't spend more time here!"

Jessie leaned back in her chair – it had belonged to her father – and smiled at Paul. "Well, if you wouldn't book me up with so many concerts, I might have a little more time." She cocked her head. "You mean you've never seen this part of the house?"

Paul shook his head, walking over to the bookshelves to look at the titles. "Nope. You're never here long enough." He tossed a handful of mail on her desk. "One of the maids told me to give this to you."

Jessie reached for the pile and shuffled through it. Her staff went through her mail, weeding out what she didn't need to see. All that was left were personal letters. She saw one from Boston and one from Hawaii – Charles and Kelleye.

She opened the one from Charles. In spite of their departure, they had continued to keep in touch. She was surprised when she received a letter from him not two weeks after she had been home. He kept her up-to-date with everything at camp, and when he returned home, he continued to write. There was nothing too personal, for which Jessie was glad. She had even had dinner with him and his family several times when she ventured near Boston and had an evening to herself.

Charles wasn't the only one she kept up with. She had met B.J. and his wife in California several times and had lunch with Col. Potter and Mildred in Missouri. She hadn't had a chance to get out to Hawaii, but Kelleye also kept up with her. Some of the nurses had even gotten together just recently for a reunion. Jessie was disappointed she couldn't make it.

"Jess, are you listening to me?" Paul said, waving his hand in front of her face. "You're about a million miles away."

The letter fluttered to the desk. "Oh, I'm sorry, Paul. Just thinking." She rifled through the remaining mail, deciding everything else could wait. "What was it you were saying?" she asked, distractedly, returning to her paperwork.

"I said I didn't know you got the Purple Heart," he said, sounding a little hurt. Paul had worked his way from the bookshelves to the corner of the room. There on her mother's small table she had rescued from the attic, Jessie had put the stuffed pony, her Purple Heart and a picture of all the nurses from the 4077th. On the wall, she had hung the painting Col. Potter had given her on her birthday, as well as her dog tags. Paul had picked up the case holding the Purple Heart and was studying it.

Jessie sighed. Johnny had been right. Paul did have feelings for her. Although Paul was very sweet, Jessie didn't exactly have romantic feelings in return. She tried to keep their relationship strictly business, but when they were on the road together as much as they were, it was hard not to let other feelings slip in. She rubbed her temples wearily and tried to resume her paperwork. I really need to hire a secretary. "I lived in a war zone for almost a year, so it was fairly inevitable."

Paul sat the medal back on the table and picked up the picture of the nurses and thumbed through the scrap book she had been given on her last day in camp.

"Well, what happened?" He studied the painting on the wall, then turned to face Jessie. "You know, you don't talk much about Korea. I know you keep up with some of the doctors and nurses there." He gestured to the letters on Jessie's desk. "But, mainly you don't say much. We've been . . .friends for years now, but I don't know much about that part of your life." He settled into a chair opposite Jessie's desk.

She peered at him over the glasses she wore to read. "Paul, I really don't want to talk about it now." At the crestfallen look in his brown eyes, she sighed and laid down her pen. "OK, fine. What do you want to know?" she said, settling in the chair.

Paul eyed her cautiously. "If you don't want to talk about it . . ."

"I just don't talk about it much to people who weren't there. It's hard to understand because it's not like being here," Jessie said, gesturing around the ornate room.

"How so?" Paul said, genuinely interested.

Jessie blew a strand of hair off her face. "Well, for starters, there were rats and bugs and body lice. We all got them," she said matter-of-factly. She laughed at his stricken look. "No, I didn't bring them home with me!"

"Oh, I know that," Paul said nervously. "I just didn't realize it was that bad."

Jessie leaned her elbows on the desk. "Well, it gets worse." Paul's eyes widened as Jessie continued. "The food was terrible. Most of it was borderline inedible, and we all lived for packages of food from home. I probably lost 15 pounds while I was there." She thought fleetingly of the pound cake Radar and she had eaten one beautiful fall day. "And then there was the wounded. They came in with body parts missing and mangled, screaming in agony. We did enough for them to make it to Seoul. That's where the real surgery was. We did more of what's calling 'meatball surgery.' It was not uncommon for me to do a 72-hour stint in OR, only taking a few short naps in-between." She fingered a pencil holder on her desk.

Paul was now quite pale. "N-no wonder you don't want to talk about it," he said, his hunger quite forgotten. "What about the people?" he said, gesturing to the letters. "What makes you keep up with them?"

Jessie picked up the letter from Kelleye and studied it. "Paul, the relationships you have with people in a war are . . .different." She laid the letter back down and picked up the one from Charles. "You are so close to these people. We faced life and death together daily. Emotions and feelings are . . . magnified. Not like over here." She gingerly laid the letter back on the desk. "Those people were my family for almost a year. They saw me at my absolute worst, worse then you'll ever see me. Although you want to forget what we all went though, you certainly don't want to forget the people. That would be like me forgetting Johnny or Andrea." She chuckled to herself. "Oh, and the practical jokes we used to play on each other!" She told Paul about a few of them, and he laughed uproariously.

He gestured towards the table in the corner. "The Purple Heart?" He watched her with concerned eyes.

Jessie gazed up to the ceiling. "Well," she started slowly. "I managed to be at the wrong place at the wrong time." She hoped that answer would appease him.

Paul frowned. "Isn't that how anyone gets hurt in a war? I'm surprised with the media coverage you get that some of this hasn't been wheedled out already."

Jessie absently fingered the pearl on her necklace. "I managed to get myself held hostage in camp with a wounded North Korean woman who we were taking care of. We didn't know she was North Korean until she grabbed me one night and tried to haul me off to North Korea to be some sort of nurse sex toy." Jessie shivered as she remembered the feel of the steel at her neck and absentmindedly rubbed the spot with her hand.

Paul's eyes were wide. He ran his hand through his graying brown hair and leaned forward. "You weren't . . .I mean did she . . .?"

Jessie smiled wryly. "No, she didn't. I don't think I would be here if she did."

Paul swallowed hard at the thought. "Well, how did you get away from her?"

Jessie replied absentmindedly. "She tried to shoot a terrified guard. When the gun went off, people came running." Jessie hadn't thought much about that night. It was something else she kept hidden deep inside. Now that she was telling Paul, all the emotions came rushing back.

She jumped up from the chair, startling Paul.

"I need a drink," she announced, walking over to a bar she kept stocked, mostly for visitors. She poured herself a generous glass of bourbon, offering Paul some. He declined, and Jessie sat in the chair next to his. She took a cautious sip of the bourbon, enjoying the burning sensation as it slid down her throat. She was debating on telling Paul about Radar. But, what good what it do?

Jessie picked up where she left off, leaving out what she didn't think was necessary. "The company clerk tried to talk her out of the gun, but she turned it on him instead." Jessie swallowed at the memory. "So, I bit her on the arm, and she flung me on the ground." She breathed in deep. "Ra- - I mean the company clerk still tried to talk her into giving the gun up. She kept telling him to stop, but he kept on. Finally, she turned the gun on him and pulled the trigger." Jessie took another generous sip of bourbon. It made her eyes water.

Paul was leaned forward in his chair, intent on the story. "She shot him?"

Jessie shook her head. "Nope, she shot me."

"You walked between him and the bullet?" he said incredulously. "Wow!" Jessie offered him the remaining sip of bourbon, and he threw it back and grimaced.

"The bullet was a small caliber one, but it knocked me into Ra-, I mean the clerk." She looked down at her hands. "The next thing I remember was waking up the next day so sore I would have preferred death."

"Where did the bullet hit you? I've never noticed any scars or anything."

"The bullet broke some ribs, which still hurt when the weather is just right. It settled next to my heart and nicked an artery. The doctors almost didn't find it in time, from what I was told."

Paul digested what Jessie had told him. "Is the guy from Boston that clerk you saved?"

Jessie chuckled slightly. "He's a doctor. One of the ones that operated on me. He'd actually be offended to think you'd call him a lowly clerk."

Paul thought hard. "What about the guy in California or the one in Maine? Or even the one that's still in Korea? Was one of them the guy you saved?"

Jessie didn't like where the questioning was going and stood up. "Nope. The first two were doctors and the one in Korea was an enlisted man. Wore dresses actually to prove he was crazy. But, he wasn't any crazier than the rest of us." She walked over to the scrapbook and flipped through it. She showed Paul a picture of Klinger dressed like Scarlett O'Hara, which made Paul burst into fits of laughter.

"Oh, boy, he's one ugly woman!" Paul said, holding his sides. Jessie had to admit, the picture was still pretty funny. Jessie told Paul a few stories about methods Klinger tried to get out of the Army until Paul couldn't breathe from laughing so hard.

"Oh, stop! Stop!" he said, slapping his leg. He rubbed some tears out of his eyes from the laughter. About that time, the pizza arrived, and they dug in.. There were silent as they ate, and Jessie thought she had successfully diverted Paul from the subject.

"So, who's this company clerk?" Paul asked, pulling a pepperoni off the top of the pizza and popping it in his mouth.

Although just starting her second slice, Jessie's appetite disappeared. She wiped her mouth with a napkin. "He's the one in the painting. The CO – commanding officer – did the painting and gave it to me for my birthday while I was there." She picked some cheese off the pizza, but was no longer hungry.

Paul's eyes drifted to the picture. "You don't hear from him?" he asked, turning back to look at Jessie.

Jessie shook her head, but didn't meet his eyes.

Paul returned to his seat and resumed eating. "So, let me get this straight," he finally said as Jessie cringed inwardly. "This guy risks his life to save you, you take a bullet for him and you don't ever hear from him? At all?" He shook his head. "Seems a little weird to me. I mean, you even have a painting of the two of you!"

Jessie threw her napkin in her plate. "Look, Paul, he went home before I did, and we just . . . stopped keeping in touch." She rose from her chair. "I'm exhausted. Need anything before I go to bed?"

Paul shook his head no. Her hand brushed his arm and squeezed it slightly. "G'night," she said and left the room, quietly shutting the door behind her.

She leaned on the wall for a moment, rubbing her aching temples, before slowly heading down the hall to her bedroom.

Paul knew there was more to the story.

**********************************************

For once, Radar found himself at home all alone. His mother was in Indianapolis with the church on a trip, and Maryanne and Lizzie were in town for the day.

Probably running up a bunch of bills I won't be able to pay.

It was so easy to be bitter, to lose himself in thoughts of how unfair life could be. But, most of the time, he wouldn't let himself. He had a wife that loved him and a daughter he adored. It didn't matter if she was genetically his child or not, he loved her just the same. As long as he had his health, he could keep the wolves - including Maryanne's estranged father – from his door.

But sometimes, he couldn't help it. Sometimes, he just wanted to feel sorry for himself.

He knew where Maryanne kept her records, right by the old phonograph of his father's in the living room full of worn furniture and other knick-knacks. It was almost as if he was drawn there by some unseen force, a leftover pull on his heart he just couldn't seem to severe.

They were some of the most played his wife owned. Radar always managed to make himself scarce, the sound of her voice, although teeny through the old dusty record player, firing up the old aches in his soul. He didn't want Maryanne to see, to know. It wasn't fair to blame her, he had come to that conclusion long ago. It was just life. And life was crappy sometimes.

He pulled them out one-by-one. All eight of them. Studied them as if he hadn't memorized them. By far, his favorite album cover was the simplest one, the one he thought looked most like her. It was her latest. She had her long hair done up in the style of the day, wearing a white pants suit, leaning against a white wall in a studio somewhere, looking at the camera, the barest hint of a smile on her face. He could even see the freckles sprinkled across her nose.

It hurt. Still. It was hard to believe it had been almost four years. Four years since he'd talked to her, touched her, heard her laugh, made love to her . . .

He wondered if she ever thought of him. Dreamed of him, just like he dreamed of her. He knew she was seeing other men. It was hard to miss when whatever she did was plastered across every magazines and news show. And Mary Anne never failed to tell him what she heard, what role Jessie was playing in the latest film or what song she had just released. He guessed Mary Anne told him because he knew Jessie, but as far as she knew, all they did was share a camp together. One part of him wanted to put his hands over his ears and yell at her to stop. But, the other part of him always won out, the part that thirsted for knowledge of her, a glimpse of her photograph in a magazine or newspaper. It was all he had.

But, it was her eyes he remembered most. How they showed her feelings even when she didn't want them to. Although all of the covers were shot in staged studios, he swore he could see it. On the cover of the very first album, he saw the sadness, wondering if he was the only one that ever saw it. He knew what happened after the letter – so many of their friends felt the need to tell him so. She bottled it up, just as he knew she would, then let it all out one night with only Major Winchester there to comfort her. Radar didn't fare much better, and he had to put on a jovial face for those around him, not letting them know his heart felt like it had shriveled, the thought of living without her more than he could take.

As time went on, her eyes changed – the sadness being replaced with the vividness he so longed to see in person.

Or maybe it was just his imagination.

But one thing was certain. She had moved on with her life.

And why did that surprise him? She had every right to. He was the one who left her, who gave up the one person who meant the most to him on this earth to save everything he had.

Was it worth it?

He honestly didn't know. He didn't think he'd ever know.

Looking at the record covers was enough. He didn't think he could handle the music itself. She was good. Really good. But, he couldn't take it. He wondered if he ever could.

Silently replacing the records as he found them, he sat alone in the darkening room, allowing himself one more moment of regret in years full of them.

*******************************************

Jessie was surprised a few months later to receive a telegram from Charles. She was in Detroit for a show when a stage manager brought it to her dressing room.

My dearest Jessamyn stop I've gotten married stop sent you an invitation but guess you never returned home to receive it stop have a business proposition for you stop call me stop Charles

So, he finally found someone. In a way, Jessie was relieved. The few times she had dinner with Charles, she always got the impression that he was lonely. Jessie was curious to meet her. She was also curious about this business proposition, as well as a little leery. She immediately picked up the phone in her room and asked for information.

A week later, Jessie found herself ensconced in the Winchester parlor, a fine China cup of tea in one hand and some sort of pastry in the other. Charles's mother was away attending a ladies' auxiliary meeting, so it was left to Charles's new wife, Alexandra, to do the entertaining.

"So, Miss Callahan, Charles tells me that you'll be singing with the Boston Symphony next week," she said, offering Jessie more tea with a shaky hand."Please, it's Jessie," she replied, earning a nervous smile from Alexandra. "Yes, I'm looking forward to it. We only have a couple of days to practice, but I've heard the performances are already sold out."

Alexandra took a small bite of pastry, then hastily laid it back down on a platter. "That seems so exciting, singing in front of so many people. And so . . .terrifying." Alexandra looked a little green at the thought.

Jessie laughed it off. "Oh, it's nothing, really! At first, it was scary, but the lights are so dim, you really can't see past the first few rows." She took a sip of her tea. "If all else fails, I can picture everyone in the audience naked."

Jessie earned a chuckle from the shy girl, and her soft brown eyes twinkled merrily. Jessie was glad to see she looked a little less green around the mouth, too.

She nodded towards the gift sitting beside Alexandra. "I do apologize for not attending the wedding. I honestly didn't know anything about it until the telegram arrived. I stay so busy that I rarely return home. My assistant forwards me personal letters, but I guess she missed the invitation." Jessie wearily thought of all the traveling she had been doing. It exhausted her just thinking about it.

"That's quite alright, Jessie. I have to admit, I don't remember much about it myself, and I was the bride!"

Jessie chuckled at her remark.

"If you don't mind me saying, Jessie, you look a little tired, Would you like to take a nap before dinner? Charles doesn't usually get home until fairly late."

Jessie wondered how this frail-looking woman-child could tell her she looked like she needed a nap. Actually, I need a month of sleep, but a nap wouldn't hurt!

"That would be great."

A maid suddenly appeared from the wings, removing the trappings from tea. "Angelica, could you show Miss Callahan to her room?"

"Yes, ma'am," the pert little maid replied.

"I'll have someone wake you in time to prepare for dinner," Alexandra told her. Jessie thanked her and followed the well-dressed maid out the door and through the townhouse.

Townhouse was actually an understatement. This house was probably larger than Jessie's. She hoped she wouldn't get lost as the maid stopped at a doorway and ushered her inside. There was a fire going in the fireplace, for which she was grateful. Northeast in winter always chilled her to the bone. She found her bags were already unpacked and flopped on the huge four-poster bed, immediately falling asleep.

Jessie was awakened promptly at 7 p.m. She wanted to curl back up in a ball under the down comforter, but she wearily threw back the covers and walked into the ornate bathroom, complete with lion claw bathtub. Staring longingly at the tub, Jessie hurried through a shower and chose her wardrobe for dinner, slacks and a green cashmere sweater. She chuckled at herself when she looked in the mirror. It had taken years for her to stomach wearing green again since she left the Army.

Jessie was a little taken aback with the pomp and circumstance of a simple dinner. She expected trumpets to sound and a man servant to announce her name as she was escorted into the dining room. She greeted Charles's parents cordially and noticed Charles was not present. His sister Honoria was away with friends, skiing in Colorado.

As if reading her mind, Alexandra said, "Charles called and said he would be working late at the hospital. He said to go on without him."

Dinner was excellent, and Jessie kept thinking back to the chaotic dinners she had when she was growing up. It was amazing that although both their families had money, Jessie's upbringing had been more laid back. Jessie always had the feeling she was living in a museum when she visited Charles's home.

Jessie and Alexandra chatted amicably throughout dinner. Mr. and Mrs. Winchester asked polite questions about Jessie's career. She could always tell they were just being polite. A performer's life was quite scandalous to them.

Jessie and Alexandra excused themselves to Alexandra's quarters after dinner. Once Alex, as she preferred to be called, was away from her in-laws, Jessie found her quite entertaining.

"Separate bedrooms, huh?" Jessie said, looking around the obviously feminine room, decorated tastefully in light colors. She had a glass of wine in her hand and found that with the roaring fire in the hearth, was making her chatty and a little sleepy.

"Sure," Alex replied. "My parents always had separate living areas, and so to Mr. and Mrs. Winchester. That's just how it's done."

Jessie figured she would always call Charles's parents Mr. and Mrs. Winchester, and that's the way his parents probably preferred it.

Jessie, thinking back to her parents' shared room, was perplexed. "So, what about, umm, wifely duties and all?" she said, gesturing towards the bed. She was amused when Alex blushed.

Alex gestured towards an empty space on the wall. "There's a connecting door," she answered shyly.

Jessie, a little wobbly, rose and inspected the area. "Well, I'll be darned."

Alex yawned. Jessie set her wine glass down on a tray near the door. "I've enjoyed talking to you, Alex. But, I better get to bed. Gotta be up bright and early to sing with the choir."

Alex grimaced. "Make sure you're on time for breakfast. I've had a hard time lately getting up in the morning, and it has made Charles a little . . . impatient with me."

"Don't pay any attention to him," she said, waving her hand flippantly in the air.

"I just . . .try so hard. It's a little . . . daunting sometimes."

Jessie was taken aback by the girl's woebegone look that she walked across the room and hugged her. "I think you're doing a wonderful job." She saw Alex fight tears. "Anyone would be intimidated by Ma and Pa Kettle down there." Jessie gestured towards the first floor.

Alex chuckled. "I doubt you would. Nothing seems to faze you."

Jessie was startled by Alex's honest words. Plus, the wine had made her chatty. "Why, of course I get fazed by things!" She thought fleetingly of Radar. Impulsively, she pulled down her shirt slightly and showed her the scar. "See?"

Alex's eyes widened. Jessie straightened her sweater. "You know, I'm going to tell you something that you have to swear not to tell anyone. Even Charles."

Alex nodded her head wordlessly.

"You know, Charles had a close call himself. He was out in the compound inspecting some wounded when a sniper suddenly decided to terrorize us a bit." Alex's hand went to her pale throat, but she remained silent. "Bullets were flying around, and when we finally were in the relative safety of the OR, Charles found a bullet hole in his hat. It went all the way through. I think he stayed drunk for a week." She patted Alex's frail hand. "See, we're all human." She left Alex sitting thoughtfully on the bed and returning to her quarters.

*****************************************

Jessie's practice the next day went well. She had missed Charles at breakfast, so she ate with a very squeamish looking Alexandra and her in-laws. That girl needs to go to the doctor, Jessie thought, studying her closely.

Jessie had written some new songs just for her performances with the orchestra, and she found the group easy to work with. In turn, she would sing a few classics, mostly opera and show tunes.

Jessie was surprised to look up during a conference with the director to find Charles standing in the aisle halfway up the empty auditorium. She half-waved at him, and he smiled and nodded. Jessie waited until a break and ran off the stage to meet him. He met her halfway, and they hugged warmly.

"Sorry I've been absent. I came home late last night, and you had already retired."

"Well, I had retired, but I couldn't sleep. Seems insomnia has been haunting me a little."

Charles noticed that she did look exhausted. "You work too hard. Although I don't know if the correct term is 'work,'" he baited her.

"Well, you're one to talk. Alex informed me that it's rare she sees you at all." Jessie cocked her head. "What's the deal with that invisible door thing, anyway? I thought that was only in the movies." Jessie laughed merrily at his discomfort.

Charles cleared his throat. "Alexandra tells me that you two had a delightful time last night. She really likes you."

"I like her, too. She suites you," Jessie said, realizing too late the connotations in her words.

Charles didn't seem to notice. "I promise to have dinner tonight with you. But, I've got to go back to the hospital." With one last hug, he was gone, and Jessie went back to work.

Dinner was once again an exquisite affair. Mr. and Mrs. Winchester were attending a banquet, so Alex, Charles and Jessie had the table to themselves. Jessie watched amusedly as Alex made sure Charles had everything he needed and his food and drink were refilled consistently.

After dinner, Charles walked Jessie to her room, arm-in-arm. "You know, she really loves you," Jessie said when they reached her door. She looked up at Charles honestly. "Do you love her?"

Charles stared into Jessie's green eyes. He dreamed about her occasionally, but they were now few and far between. "Yes, I do," Charles answered softly, meaning it.

Jessie smiled at his answer. "Good." She kissed him on the cheek. "Goodnight, then." She softly closed the door behind her. Charles stayed in that spot, looking at the closed door, then slowly returned to his room.

The next morning at 7 a.m., Jessie promptly walked towards the dining room for breakfast. She longed to lounge in bed, but knew her hosts would certainly not approve. When she passed by Alexandra's door, she noticed it was opened slightly. She peeked inside, seeing if Alex was ready to go downstairs. Alex had looked exhausted the night before, and Jessie was concerned about her.

The room was empty. "Alex?" she called softly. She heard noises from the bathroom. Concerned, Jessie followed the sound. "Alex, are you OK?"

"Please don't come in here," Alex pled weakly. Stubbornly, Jessie ignored her. She found Alex curled on the floor, retching into the toilet.

"I'm so sorry," Alex mumbled, then vomited again. Jessie held back her long brown hair and patted her back until she was done, then helped her into bed. She tucked the covers around her.

"Now, you stay right here, and I'll make sure you get some tea and toast." With Alex's green appearance, Jessie doubted that would even stay down.

Alex struggled to rise. "Oh, no, I've got to go down to breakfast. Then, I have to go with Mrs. Winchester to her bridge tournament. And, tonight is your concert. I just can't miss that," Alex's eyes teared up, and Jessie was touched.

"Oh, no you don't," Jessie said, pushing her gently back into the bed. "Get some rest. I'll make sure they know that you're not well. Do you want me to call a doctor?" Jessie figured with this much money, they probably had a doctor on the payroll.

Alex shook her head. "No, it's just a bug. I just can't seem to shake it, though. It seems like I've been sick for a couple of weeks now."

Jessie, who had disappeared into the bathroom to get Alex a glass of water, paused in the doorway. She slowly made her way across the room and sat the glass down by Alex's bed, trying to figure out how she was going to tactfully ask the question on her mind. "Alex, when was the last time you had your monthly visitor?"

Alex gave her a blank look.

To hell with politeness . . . "Menstruated. Had your period. Whatever."

Alex's cocked her head in thought. "I-I don't remember. Maybe a couple of months ago." Her eyes widened when she realized what Jessie was saying. "You think I may be . . .?"

Jessie patted her on the leg. "I'm no doctor, but all the symptoms are there. Do you know who the family's doctor is?" Alex was beginning to look a little green again. "Never mind, I'll get it from someone. I'll make sure he comes to see you today. Just lay back down now and get some sleep."

Alex, deep in thought, didn't argue. Jessie left the room, quietly shutting the door behind her. She saw a maid in the hallway and informed her that Alex was not feeling well and to please contact the doctor to come see her at once.

Jessie entered the formal dining room and few minutes after breakfast began. Mr. and Mrs. Winchester had eaten earlier, and Charles was the only one at the table, looking impatient. Jessie settled into her chair and was immediately served.

"Well, good morning, Charles," Jessie said, digging into the food. Even breakfast was a fancy affair in the Winchester household.

"Good morning," Charles mumbled, looking at his watch. He took a sip of coffee and began to eat himself. They ate for a minute in silence, when Charles slammed his mug down, making Jessie jump.

"Where is she?" he said impatiently. "She knows breakfast is served at 7 a.m., and from what Mother told me, she has a busy day today."

Jessie rolled her eyes and continued eating. "It's just breakfast. All of you act like the Queen of England might walk into the room any minute."

Charles eyed her coolly. "I don't know how you grew up, but when I was growing up, it was the height of rudeness to be late for any meal."

Jessie's slammed her fork down on the table. "For your information, Charles, your wife is upstairs puking her guts up into the toilet." The maid in the corner flinched at Jessie's words.

Jessie steed up and threw her napkin on the table. Charles started to speak, but she held up her hand. "And instead of worrying about why she had been sick, she was worried about upsetting you and your parents by being late for a stupid breakfast! Breakfast, of all things!" Jessie's voice continued to rise in anger. "That girl is so concerned about pleasing you, and you totally ignore everything she does do for something as trivial as being late for breakfast!"

She stomped to Charles and stuck her finger in his face. "And you know why she's sick? You're the doctor around here aren't you?" Jessie didn't wait for an answer. "She's pregnant, that's why."

Charles's mouth fell open, and he immediately closed it. "She's what?"

"You heard me!" she retorted, putting her hands on her hips. "So, instead of not paying any attention to how green your wife has been over the last several weeks, you ignore her, work too hard and generally make an ass of yourself." She turned to leave the dining room. "And don't worry. You won't be late for work. I've already had the doctor called in, so you needn't worry about that!"

Jessie twirled around on her heel and stormed out of the dining room. When she threw open to door, she almost hit two maids who were listening. They immediately pretended to work, but one did give her a triumphant smile.

******************************************

Jessie's angry rant at breakfast exhausted her. She made it through the final practice, and instead of returning to the Winchester household, she rested in her dressing room before the first show. She had Timothy, her driver, fetch what she would need from the house. Although Jessie preferred flying to riding in a car, Timothy usually drove her own personal car to where she would be if she would be in one town for any length of time. Her dress for the first night, a gold shimmering off-the-shoulder affair, was already in her small dressing room. Before she fell into a fitful sleep, she wondered if Charles and his family would even attend the show.

Jessie had to admit, she did enjoy singing with the orchestra. When the show was over, she and the players received a standing ovation. She walked offstage, waving at the crowd. She stayed to congratulate some of the performers, then walked tiredly to her dressing room. Fleetingly, she wondered if she should even return to the Winchester townhouse after her rant from the morning as she removed her stage make-up.

Timothy came to get her when the car was ready. Signing a few autographs along the way, Jessie finally wearily made it to the limo. She tugged her coat around her when she saw the snow flakes falling from the sky.

Timothy climbed into the driver's seat and looked at Jessie in the rearview mirror with kind eyes.

"Will you be returning to Dr. Winchester's residence?" he said cautiously.

She chuckled. "So, you heard?" she said, stifling a yawn.

Timothy smiled at his mistress. "Yes, it was kind of hard not to." Jessie cringed a little, and Timothy chuckled at her distress. "Don't worry, though. It seems all the help was on your side."

"That figures," she mumbled. "Working for Charles is about as fun as going to the dentist, I'm sure." She waved her hand. "Go ahead to Dr. Winchester's house. It's so late that they probably won't be up, anyway."

Jessie dozed as Timothy maneuvered the large automobile through the snowy streets. She was startled into wakefulness when he stopped under the covered awning at the Winchester house. She yawned as she walked into the cool parlor. Surprisingly, a maid was there to help her with her coat.

"Do you ever get to sleep around here?" Jessie asked tiredly.

The maid chuckled merrily. "Oh, yes, Miss Callahan," she replied, removing Jessie's messy shoes from the spotless parlor. She winked at Jessie. "Heard about the words you had with Dr. Winchester this morning. Good show. He doesn't need to treat Ms. Alexandra that way. Now, Ms. Alexandra has been waiting up for you. Go on up."

Jessie slowly ascended to curving staircase. She saw a light on underneath Alex's door and knocked softly before opening the door.

Alexandra was sitting propped up in bed, reading. When Jessie entered the room, her eyes lit up. "Oh, you were so wonderful tonight!" She laid down her book.

Jessie settled on the edge of the bed. "I'm a little surprised that you came. Did, um, all of you go?"

Alex smiled at Jessie, patting her hand. "Yes, we were all there. Even Mrs. Winchester seemed to enjoy herself. I think she was surprised that you sounded so wonderful. Charles informed her that you were actually trained in classical music, and you were wasting your talent with this country western stuff."

Jessie rolled her eyes, and Alex giggled.

"I've been dying to know," Jessie said, eyes sparkling.

Alex smiled serenely and clasped Jessie's hands. "You were right," she said softly. "I'm about 1 ½ months along." Jessie couldn't resist and clapped her hands in excitement.

Alex cleared her throat. "You know, Charles stayed home today with me. He was here when the doctor came, too."

Jessie put on her best poker face. "Oh, really."

Alex reached over and hugged Jessie.

"What was that for?"

"Angelica told me about breakfast." Alex confessed.

Jessie dropped her gaze. "That wasn't my finest hour. He can just make me so mad sometimes! Always could." She clenched her fist.

Alex took her hand. "He loves you, you know."

Jessie stared at Alex in shock, then raised an eyebrow skeptically. "Your hormones must be making you crazy," Jessie said, not quite meeting her sincere gaze. When she did meet Alex's eyes, she was surprised by the child-like honesty she saw in her face.

Jessie sighed. "Yeah, I know," she admitted grudgingly. "I guess I always have known." She patted Alex's hand, still clasping her own.

Alex shrugged. "Oh, I figured it out pretty fast. His eyes always light up when he talks about you. Even after you blessed him out at breakfast, he still gets this faraway look when your name comes up."

She turned to face Jessie, who was a little flustered with the conversation. "Do you care for him?" she asked without a hint of malice.

Jessie propped her feet up in the bed next to Alex and rubbed her calf. How did I get into this discussion? "Well, of course I do. He saved my life," Jessie finally replied. Alex propped herself up on one elbow and looked at Jessie.

"No, not that way. You know – love."

Jessie shook her head. "I would have hated it here, and he knew it. Besides, he loves you."

Alex smiled. "Yeah, I know," she said, yawning.

"Alex, you need to be getting your rest. Sleeping for two and all that," Jessie said, awkwardly.

Alex settled down in the many pillows on the bed, and Jessie rose from the bed. "I asked Charles about your scar, and he told me what happened," she said sleepily.

Jessie froze halfway to the door.

"He told me about . . .the rest of it, too." She turned her head to study Jessie. "It's all so sad."

Jessie half-smiled at Alex. "Get some sleep." Jessie quietly shut the door behind her. She leaned against the wall for a moment and closed her eyes, surprised at the emotions that so quickly welled up inside of her at the vague mention of Korea.

"Damn," she cursed under her breath, then slowly made her way down the hall. Exhausted, she prepared for bed. Once she settled underneath the many blankets, she found she once again couldn't sleep. Disgusted, she threw back the blankets.

She was settled on the loveseat in the room, going over a few notes for her performance tomorrow, but nothing was sinking in.

It was amazing that it had been four years, but it never failed to hurt when someone mentioned his name, loneliness flooding through her soul.

A soft knock interrupted her thoughts. She removed her glasses and rubbed her eyes wearily.

"Come in," she said, placing her glasses back on her nose, wondering who was up so late. She was surprised when Charles walked into the room.

Jessie, still a little flummoxed by Alex's confession, patted the seat next to her. Charles obediently sat.

"Alex told me what the doctor said." She crossed her arms in front of her defiantly. "Told you so."

Charles's chuckled to himself. "Now, don't get all riled up again. Your Texas-sized rampage this morning has been the talk of the house."

Jessie blew her bangs out of her face. "Don't think I'm going to apologize for it because I'm not." She smiled at him. "But, congratulations just the same."

He looked over at Jessie and smiled. "Thanks." He patted her leg. "I know I deserved it. You always manage to bring me back to earth when I need it."

Jessie poked him in the side with her finger. "Alex told me all of you came to the performance. I honestly wasn't expecting you to be there."

"Do you really think I was going to miss it?" he said incredulously. "After all, it's because of me that you were on that stage, anyway."

"Oh, please," Jessie said, tucking her legs up underneath herself. "Don't be an ass. At least you haven't been taking credit for the rest of my career. How embarrassing would it be for you to be associated with country music?"

They both chuckled. Charles watched Jessie in the dim light of the fireplace, idly playing with her necklace. He leaned over and took it out of her fingers, surprising her.

"You still wear it."

Jessie sat very still.

He let go of the pearl, his fingers lightly brushing her neck. "You miss him, don't you?"

Jessie looked over into the dying fire. "Would you think I was crazy if I said yes?" she whispered. She wiped angrily at the tears threatening to spill over.

Charles took her hand in his. "You're not crazy." He moved closer to her and put his arm around her.

She leaned onto his chest. "Sometimes, especially when I want to feel really sorry for myself, I wonder what my life would have been like if I had come home, went straight to Iowa and married him. Would I have been happier? Or not? Would it have worked?"

They sat in silence for a moment, each lost in what-might-have-been.

She shook herself out of her memories. "Oh, well, what's done is done," she said, giving Charles a shaky smile. "You must think I'm a simp."

He hugged her tight. "No, just human," he said, letting her go and rising from the loveseat. "Now, get some sleep."

Jessie mock saluted him. "Yes, sir, Major."

He rolled her eyes at her.

That night, Jessie dreamed of rolling hills of Iowa corn with a white farmhouse right in the middle, the same dream she had had many nights before. She woke up the next morning with tears on her face.

************************************************

Maryanne rubbed the small of her back as she studied the attic stairs. It was amazing that she was even able to get them down, but now that she had, she was wondering if she even wanted to attempt climbing them.

However, Lizzie had gone with her mother-in-law to town. The bubbly 3-year old was enough to wear her completely out, and that was before she became pregnant again. Having Lizzie almost killed her, and even her doctor was dead-set against another child. But, Maryanne adored babies and longed to have a houseful of them. It took her years to convince Walter of this, but convince him she did.

But, the low ache in her back was constant, starting earlier than it did with Lizzie. She didn't dare tell anyone, just tried to rest as much as possible, which was almost impossible with a struggling farm to run and a toddler to raise, even with her mother-in-law's help.

Knowing she would never be able to get those baby clothes out of the attic with Mrs. Edna tattling to Walter, she trudged up the rickety stairway, pausing as it creaked and groaned with the extra weight. She could have asked Walter to do it for her, but he stayed so busy, often not returning from the field until long past supper. He had enough to worry about.

At the top, she tightened her shawl around her shoulders as the cool, musty air greeted her. Waiting a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dimness, she glanced around, hoping against all hope to spot a box clearly labeled "Baby Clothes."

But, the old furniture, boxes and other flotsam didn't offer such assistance. Sighing, she bent over painfully to rummage through the first box she came to.

It didn't take long. The third crate was full of baby things, and Maryanne had to stop and finger each small, soft gown. She wanted a boy, prayed for a boy, and some of these things could be used for one.

But, something was missing. The everyday things – the diapers and such – were not in this box. That was really what she wanted all along, so convinced she would bear a son and wouldn't need these frilly pink things.

Struggling to her feet, she continued her search.

Underneath the dirty window, where only a dim patch of early spring sunlight shone through, she found the other box sitting on an old trunk, full of baby necessities. Since the ache in her back had gotten progressively worse, she could have pumped her fists with triumph if she weren't so damn exhausted.

When she picked up the crate, she saw it. Stenciled on the trunk underneath in neat block letters was "MASH 4077th"

She paused. He never talked about it. She didn't press. Content with her life as a farmer's wife, all she wanted was to make him happy. And talking about Korea did not make him happy. She told herself she understood. It was war, and who would want to talk about such horrid things?

But, a tiny part of her was a hurt that he would keep it from her. She was his wife, after all, albeit a little reluctantly. But, that was years ago, and they were all now one happy little family. Right?

Maryanne was hit with the sudden urge to know. She wanted some insight into that missing chapter of her husband's life.

Only feeling slightly guilty, she knelt in front of the trunk. The lid creaked open, almost as if it hadn't been opened since it was sat in this very spot.

Baby clothes now forgotten, she reached inside for the first thing she saw. A Purple Heart. Opening the little box, she touched it gently, wondering. She had seen the scars, but he never elaborated, and she never asked. Like a good wife, she never pushed.

Setting it carefully aside, she slowly made her way through the missing part of her husband's life, a part she hadn't realized she so desperately wanted to know of. Maybe if she understood, he would love her. Not that he ever told her otherwise, but she knew. Deep down inside, she knew her father had foisted her upon him for her costly mistake. She always expected him to hate her for it, but he never did. And it made her wonder.

Underneath the uniforms and pictures of people, some familiar to her and some not, she found herself staring at a face that graced the cover of some of her favorite albums. Gingerly, she picked up the photograph.

In the background were tall reeds, almost as tall as the corn in Iowa before harvest. Although the photo was a grainy black-and-white production, Maryanne could see the sun's rays shining off the reeds and the hair of Jessamyn Callahan. It was a side-shot, a few strands of that gorgeous hair blowing across her face. She was looking off into the distance, almost oblivious to the camera that was pointed her way. And she was beautiful.

It was a small camp. We only ran into each other a few times . . .

If that was the case, then why did he have a picture of her?

Maryanne hesitantly continued her search for answers, answers she was now afraid she couldn't handle.

There were more pictures. The two of them together. Many of her alone, laughing into the camera.

Her hands shook when she found the letters, tied together with a faded green ribbon. She studied the postmarks, noting the dates in her head. The last one was mailed two weeks before she and Walter were married at the courthouse in downtown Ottumwa.

The honest part of her wanted to throw all the things back in the trunk, race downstairs and go back to be ignorant of what her one night of indiscretion destroyed. But, she wanted to know. She had to know.

When she was done, she didn't even have to pull the small ring box out to know what he had given up.

It all made so much sense! Her father raging on the phone after her situation became known that "if he doesn't marry her, he'll wish he had!" The faraway look on Walter's face that she could never figure out. The distance he kept from her, never quite allowing her into his private thoughts and dreams.

And, no wonder he refused to take her to the concert awhile back. She had to be content with listening to it on the radio, Walter finding something to keep him busy out of earshot. She thought he didn't like her singing.

But, she was wrong. Oh, so wrong.

In these photos, he looked at Jessamyn Callahan like he never looked at her. Not once. The few grainy photographs she griped in her hands proved he had given up something special.

She cried, her tears staining the photos clutched in her hand. She cried for a woman she didn't even know. She cried for her husband who was only her husband through extortion. And she cried for herself. No matter how good Walter was to her, her life and marriage to him would always be a sham.

When she was all cried out, she managed to return the mementoes to the trunk. They would be home soon and expect lunch, no doubt. And, there was laundry to do and floors to scrub, as well.

Her aching back throbbed as she carefully made her way down the stairs with the two crates. He would never know that she knew. It wouldn't be fair to him. He never once made her feel unwanted, and she admired him for that. She didn't know if she could have done the same in his shoes.

If he was strong enough and brave enough to give up someone that obviously meant so much to him, then she could give up her childish hopes and dreams of a perfect family.

She squared her shoulders as she heard the truck pull into the drive and went to greet her family.

**********************************

Jessie scampered offstage, waving and smiling at the cheering crowd. She was ushered through the normal backstage activities to her dressing room. Once inside, she flopped down on a chair and wearily shut her eyes. God, I'm so tired! She slowly opened one eye and studied herself in the huge lighted mirror in front of her. The stage make-up took away some of her haggard appearance. She sighed and took off her large gold earrings, designed to catch the light as she sang. She began brushing her hair vigorously, combing out all the hairspray added to it a couple of hours before. Tired green eyes stared back at her. I should have left the make-up on. At least it hid the circles underneath my eyes.

There was a slight knock on her door, and Timothy's grey head popped around the edge of the door.

"You ready?"

Jessie rose tiredly and lugged her large bag to the door, which Timothy took from her. "I'm just glad to have a couple of nights at home." Since the concert was in Richmond, Jessie wasn't a half hour from her own bed.

There was a crowd gathered outside, wanting her autograph. Recently, Jessie had to hire a few security guards to deter the more persistent ones, but this crowd seemed harmless enough. She pasted her "celebrity smile" on and posed for a few photographs and signed a few programs.

As she signing her name for the fifteenth time, a commotion from the corner caught her eye. One of her guards, Ralph, she thought was his name, was arguing with a tall, dark-haired man.

"I tell you, I know her!" the man said, waving his hands wildly. "Just give me a second, and I'll show you!"

Ralph, his arms crossed threateningly in front of his hulky chest, looked at the man, bored. "No backstage pass, no autograph," Ralph said. "Now, get outta here."

"C'mon, Ben, let's just go," a woman's voice said.

Jessie dropped her pen.

"Major Houlihan?" She handed the program back to the fan and started towards them. As she got closer, she recognized the man.

"Hawkeye?" When she got closer, he smiled at her rackishly.

"Ohmygod, it is you!" Jessie squealed. She grabbed Hawkeye and hugged him tightly.

Ralph looked bored and moved back. He worked on removing the last of the autograph seekers from backstage.

Hawkeye held her at arm's length. "You're a sight for sore eyes!"

She couldn't help but laugh and slap him on the arm. She saw Margaret standing behind him.

"And, Major!" Jessie said, grabbing the woman and hugging her tightly, too.

Margaret laughed. "It's just Margaret, now."

"What in the world are you two doing in Richmond?" Jessie said, leading them to some crates. They all sat.

"Well, I was offered a position at a hospital here that was unbelievable, so I took it. We just moved here last month."

Jessie's eyes widened in shock. "We?" she said, confused. That's when she noticed the wedding bands on both of their fingers.

"Holy cow!" she said, hugging Margaret again. "That's incredible. I mean, I never would have thought . . ."

Margaret laughed at Jessie's expression. "Yeah, it was kind of hard for me to get used to at first, myself. But, we've been married for a year now."

Hawkeye elbowed her slightly in the side. "Tell her," he muttered, his blue eyes twinkling.

Margaret rolled her eyes. "And, we're expecting a baby in a few months. He almost acts like we're the only ones to be expecting a child, the way he carries on so." But, she patted his arm affectionately, and Jessie knew she wasn't as annoyed as she sounded.

Jessie put her hand to her mouth. "Good Lord, this is almost too much for me to take! I almost . . ."

"Hey, aren't you going to introduce us?" Jessie looked up into a pair of merry brown eyes. She stood up, slightly flustered, as he stuck out his hand.

"John McIntyre."

Jessie firmly shook his hand. "Jessie Callahan." She studied him close. "Wait a minute . . . hey! You're Trapper!"

"Give the lady a cigar," Trapper said. "And this lovely lady is my wife Louise."

Jessie took Louise's offered hand. "You must have the patience of Job to deal with him."

"Patience and a large frying pan," she said, laughing.

The group moved out of the way for the backstage workers taking down the set.

"So, do you live here, too?" Jessie asked Louise.

Louise shook her head. "No, we live in Cleveland. We're just here for a doctor's conference or some craziness like that."

"If you don't mind me asking, where are you staying?"

Trapper rolled his eyes. "In their cramped spare bedroom."

"Hell, you've slept in worse," Hawkeye said.

Jessie interrupted the exchange. "Look, I have a house not half an hour from here. Why don't the four of you come home with me and stay the night. It's rare I get to entertain, and I'd like to catch up."

Hawkeye and Margaret looked at each other. Margaret shrugged. "Sure. I've always wanted to see how the other half lived."

Jessie laughed. "I haven't been home in so long, it might not even be standing, for all I know!"

Timothy herded the five talking, laughing adults to the waiting limo and maneuvered them through Richmond traffic. Before they all realized it, they were pulling into Jessie's driveway.

"Here we are. Home sweet home," Jessie said as Timothy opened the door for them. Her staff had outdone themselves, knowing she was going to be arriving home that evening. Every light in the house shone on the well-manicured lawn. Although Christmas had just recently passed, Jessie had insisted they leave the cedar wrapped around the four large marble columns in the front. The four of them stood in awe at the sight.

Jessie bustled on into the house. She turned and called out. "Hey, are y'all coming in? It's freezing out here!"

They spent the rest of the evening in her parlor, laughing hysterically. Trapper told some stories from his stint at the 4077th, some Jessie hadn't even heard, and she was soon wiping tears out of her eyes. Louise even joined right in and told a few of Trapper's antics.

Soon, it was past midnight, and Louise and Margaret had gone to bed, leaving Jessie with the two men. They continued their story-telling until the booze ran low.

Since Jessie had sent the staff to bed, she rose from her place by the fire. "Hey, let's go to my office. I've got a whole stocked bar in there."

"Great!" Trapper said. "Let the real drinking begin!"

They stumbled merrily up the stairs, trying to be quiet. Jessie threw open the door and turned on the light.

"Good God, woman, this room is fit for a king!" Hawkeye said. He peered behind the drapes. "Perhaps you have a king held hostage here somewhere."

Jessie sniggered. "No, you dolt, there's no king. Just the queen. Me, of course," she said regally, pouring them all a generous serving of whiskey.

Hawkeye took his gratefully. "Ahh, this sure beats the swill we had from the still, doesn't it Trap?"

Trapper nodded his head. "You got that right." They drank in comfortable silence.

Trapper once again looked around the room, admiring the dark paneling. "You know, if country music pays this good, I need to find me a nitch. Start singing to some good ol' boys."

"You won't believe this, but Jessie can sing classical music as well as the next prima donna," Hawkeye said.

"Really?" Trapper was walking around the room, admiring the décor.

Jessie nodded. "I don't think I'll give you a sample right now. It might wake the whole house."

Hawkeye chuckled. "Hey, you remember when Charles bet that you couldn't sing some chorus from that famous opera?"

Jessie laughed aloud. "Yeah, remember the look on his face when I let loose in the mess tent? I wish I'd had a camera!" She sipped her drink.

"What's old Chuckles up to nowadays, anyway?" Hawkeye said.

Jessie sat down her drink. "I just saw him about a month ago. He got married a few months before that, and his wife is due about the same time as Margaret."

"Well, time sure flies, doesn't it?" Hawkeye said. "So, when are you going to settle down, m'dear?"

Jessie sipped her drink thoughtfully. "My manager Paul proposed to me last week. I told him I'd think about it."

Hawkeye raised his eyebrow. "Think about it? For a week? If Margaret had waited a week, I'd have pulled the offer off the table."

Jessie stuck her tongue out at Hawkeye. "It's not that easy. He's a good guy and all, but . . ."

"Hey, that's Radar!" Trapper said. He was studying Col. Potter's painting on the wall.

Jessie continued sipping her drink, ignoring his comment.

Trapper scratched his head. "Whatever happened to Radar, anyway?"

"He married the banker's daughter back home," she said in what she hoped was a nonchalant tone, avoiding Hawkeye's gaze.

"No kiddin'?" He gestured towards the stuffed horse. "What's the deal?"

"It was a gift," Jessie said before Hawkeye could reply. "From a friend."

Trapper yawned wide. "Well, time to hit the ol' sack," he said, stretching. He came over and kissed Jessie on the cheek. "In the morning, I want to hear how you wound up with that medal over there."

Jessie feigned indifference. "I got wounded."

Trapper continued laughing as he left the room.

Hawkeye stared at Jessie. "So, you haven't heard, then."

"Heard what?" Jessie had been clutching her tumbler so hard her knuckles were white, hoping she could dodge any questions. She flexed her stiff fingers.

"About Radar."

Jessie's head snapped up. Fear she had no right to feel crept up her throat.

Hawkeye cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably in the chair. "We saw Col. Potter a few months ago. He had heard from Radar just recently."

"And what?" Jessie said, annoyed at the interruption.

"Well, his wife – Maryanne I think it was – died recently. Complications from childbirth, apparently. The baby died, too.

Jessie paled. "How horrible," she whispered, mostly to herself, leaning back in the chair. "D-do you know about the first child? The one that she was expected when . . ." She swallowed hard.

Hawkeye shrugged. "Apparently, she's fine. Lizzie's her name. Maryanne's parents wouldn't have anything to do with her, so Radar's raising her. It's his daughter, as far as he's concerned."

Jessie slammed her glass down on the table, making Hawkeye jump. "Those people! First, they shove their daughter off on him, then their granddaughter. How can people be so cruel? They just . . ." She rose and started to pace the room. "They just abandon her!"

Hawkeye poured himself a generous glass of whiskey and watched Jessie pace. "You outta give him a call," he said, stretching.

Jessie stopped in her tracks. "Are you crazy?" she said, peering at Hawkeye. He raised an eyebrow at her comment.

"You know what I mean," Jessie mumbled. Charles had told her about Hawkeye's couple of weeks spent under Sidney Freeman's care before the war was over.

He waved her comment off. "I just believe you should think about it, that's all."

Jessie propped her chin in her hand. "Hawkeye, it's been over five years. I doubt I ever cross his mind."

He rolled his eyes theatrically. "You're on the cover of every magazine in the country, and every time I turn on the television, there you are," he said. "Not to mention the radio. Even if he hadn't thought about you, he's certainly seen or heard you!"

"Look, I'm not going to call him. End of discussion. I'm not crazy about making an idiot of myself. If it was meant to be, it would have happened. But, it didn't."

"Suit yourself," Hawkeye said, a trifle annoyed. He came to stand in front of her desk. "But, I'll tell you something. Have you stopped to think that maybe the reason you won't accept Paul's proposal is because some part of you somewhere deep down inside is still in love with O'Reilly?" Jessie flinched at his words, but he kept talking. "Either go on with your life or take Paul up on his offer." Hawkeye sat his glass down with a thunk. "Goodnight, Jess. Thanks for the booze."

"Yeah, goodnight, Hawkeye," Jessie mumbled to his back as he ambled out of the room. Jessie was left alone in the semi-darkness. She sat very still for a few minutes listening to the house settle. Idly, she reached in her pocket for the impressive ring Paul had given her. She held it up to the dim light of the fireplace and watched it sparkle. Resolutely, she picked up the phone on her desk.

*****************************************

The snow fell in slow, fat flakes at the airport in Helena. The terminal was almost empty that late in night, and Jessie was relieved. That meant fewer fans showing up, wanting autographs. She wearily watched Timothy arguing with a woman at the flight desk. They had attended a banquet in Helena in her honor. Jessie was so sick, so honestly couldn't remember what it was for. All of the banquets, concerts and appearances blended into her mind that Jessie shook it a little to straighten herself out. Coughs racked her body, and she took a sip of water to alleviate the spasms. Didn't help much.

Timothy angrily stalked over to where Jessie was waiting with her luggage. "All the flights are canceled. Apparently, most of the country between here and Tennessee is covered with snow."

Jessie shivered uncontrollably and sighed. "Maybe that's just as well. We can just stay in Helena until it all blows over."

Timothy sat down wearily beside her. "That's the problem. All the hotels are booked. If we stay in Helena, we stay here."

As sick as she felt, Jessie had no desire to spend several hours, let alone days, in an airport terminal in Helena.

"What else do you suggest?" Jessie said, coughing. Her mind was so muddled, she had a hard time trying to figure out another option.

Timothy watched her worriedly. "Well, the worst of the storm is east of here. We could drive onto Missouri and keep behind it." He put his hand on her arm and lowered his voice. "I really think you need to skip the concert in Missouri, and maybe the next few shows. You've been working too hard, then planning for a wedding, to boot. You really need to get some rest."

"I'm fine," she said through clenched teeth. "It's just a cold, that's all. I'll just sleep on the ride to Missouri, then I'll be fine by the time we get there."

Timothy knew better than to argue. "You riding with me, then?" he asked politely. Jessie nodded her head curtly, and Timothy suppressed a huge sigh. He picked up her baggage as she stiffly rose from the uncomfortable chair.

As they exited the terminal, they passed a bank of telephones. "Should you contact Mr. Paul to let him know our plans?"

Jessie quickened her pace. She was in no mood for Paul's concerned tone. "No. As far as he knows, we'll be in Missouri by tomorrow afternoon. If we get there by plane or car, who cares?"

"Yes, ma'am," Timothy said. He knew Paul would be angry, but Jessie was determined.

Jessie's teeth chattered as they walked into the frigid air.

"Miss Jessie, why don't you wait inside? I'll bring the car around and pick you up." Timothy herded her back inside the relative warmth of the deserted terminal. Jessie didn't argue. The spurt of annoyance she had just a few minutes earlier sapped all her strength, and exhausted, she sat on her suitcase, waiting for Timothy.

The storm had not been that bad in Helena and a light sprinkling of the white stuff coating the ground, although the temperatures were quite frigid. Jessie huddled in the backseat of the luxurious Lincoln, bundled up in her own overcoat. As the car warmed, her shivering eased. She leaned her warm forehead against the cool window and watched the countryside pass by in the darkness.

Jessie couldn't sleep long. She would doze, and a coughing fit would seize her. Timothy watched her in the rearview mirror and asked several times if she wanted to stop.

Jessie just waved him off. "I'll be fine," she kept saying, although she was beginning to doubt her own words. She ached all over, and her throat was so raw that it hurt to swallow. I doubt I'll be able to sing, even if we make it to Missouri.

Finally, dawn had come, but it was hard to tell through the blowing snow. Jessie watched the grey sunlight, shivering despite the warmth of the car, as Timothy struggled through the drifts.

They stopped for breakfast at a deserted roadside café. They hadn't seen another car for miles, and the waitress seemed surprised to see someone out in such weather.

Jessie, feeling feverish, watched Timothy closely. "Look, I'm sorry about how abrupt I was at the airport. I just can't afford to get sick right now, and I guess I was taking it out on you." She smiled wanly and sipped the coffee the waitress had brought.

Timothy wearily began eating his breakfast. "I know," he said, munching on some eggs. Concerned, he watched Jessie nibbling on a piece of toast. "You really need to eat something. Mr. Paul will kill me if I let you waste away."

Jessie shrugged. "I don't think my stomach can handle anything right now," she mumbled. Timothy looked just as tired as she felt. "Why don't we just stop somewhere and hole up until this passes?"

"Sorry, miss, I couldn't help but overhear," the waitress said, bustling up with a pot of coffee to refill Timothy's mug. "But, there's no hotel rooms between here and Missouri. Storm caught all the travelers off guard."

Jessie wiggled her aching shoulders. "Well, it just seems we're on our own, then," she whispered to Timothy as the waitress waddled off. Timothy kept on eating.

Despite the weather forecasts, which called for clearing, the weather continued to worsen. The snow, which had been falling lightly during the first leg of their trip, became too thick that Timothy slowed to a crawl on the road. Icy patches developed, and the treacherous surface caused to big car to slide on occasion. Since they were the only ones on the two-lane highway, they weren't a threat to anyone.

****************************************

Jessie's health deteriorated with the weather. Her throat ached and each time she coughed, which was often, she felt like she was going to rip her lungs in two. Through a feverish fog, she often forgot where she was as she huddled in the backseat.

Night fell, and visibility worsened. Timothy could hardly see past the hood of the car. He was pretty sure they were lost. However, he couldn't tell since all landmarks were blanketed in white. The headlights cut a weak swath through the blinding snow, and Timothy swerved to miss a mailbox. Shaken that he hadn't even realized he was off the highway, he crept down the road. Worried, he looked in the rearview mirror, which he had trained on Jessie. All he could see in the darkness was a hunched figure wrapped in a large coat. Her coughing concerned him, as well as her mumbling. For miles, she would hum songs to herself, then laugh aloud at something only her feverish mind could see. She needed help, but he was helpless to find it. He cursed at himself for not insisting they find somewhere to stay in Montana.

Timothy didn't even notice that he was leaving the road again. He saw the fence a split second away from slamming into it. Quickly, he jerked the wheel to the right, and the headlights bounced wildly off the falling snow. The backend of the car swerved around, trying to find traction on the road. Timothy held onto the steering wheel tightly and closed his eyes, knowing there was nothing he could do as the car spun. The car swerved across the road, smashing into a tree. Timothy heard Jessie gasp in the backseat. The car stopped with a jolt, tilted at a crazy angle. He opened his eyes slowly.

"Miss Jessie, are you alright?" he said, reaching over the seat.

Jessie, eyes huge, started back at him. "Wh-what happened?" she said through chattering teeth.

Timothy, sweating, reached out a put the back of his hand to her forehead. He was shocked to feel how hot she was. "I-I couldn't see and swerved to keep from hitting a fence." He peered out the windows. "It appears we landed in a ditch and hit a tree." He pointed at the tree trunk against the passenger side window of the car.

Jessie coughed, and searing pain shot through her lungs. "Are we stuck?"

Timothy turned around and gunned the idling engine. The back wheels whined in the snow, but the car barely moved an itch. Suddenly, the engine coughed and died. Timothy, confused, looked down at the dashboard. The gauge was on empty. He cursed under his breath. He hadn't seen an open gas station for the last hundred miles.

"Do you know where we are?" Jessie asked weakly from the backseat.

"I think we're in Nebraska, but I'm not sure. There was a detour about two hours ago, but I must have missed a turn-off." Timothy gripped the steering wheel, trying to decide what to do. Jessie coughed again and moaned softly. He had to get help. Suddenly, he remembered the mailbox he almost hit. It couldn't be more than a mile down the road! He flipped the emergency lights on and turned in the seat, taking off his overcoat. He leaned over the seat and tucked it around Jessie.

"Miss Callahan, I'm going to get some help," he said determinedly. "I saw a mailbox about a mile down the road. I'll bring back someone to help us out of this ditch."

Jessie stifled another cough. "Hey, you'll need your coat," she argued weakly. She tried to wriggle out of it, but couldn't.

Timothy waved her off. "I have another one in the trunk. I won't be long, OK?"

"OK," Jessie whispered and cringed when he slammed the door. She heard him open and close the trunk, then there was silence. All she heard was the wind howling around the car.

Timothy, studying his tracks almost full with snow, made sure he headed back the way he had driven. He gripped his coat around him and pulled his hat down tighter over his head, but the frigid wind soon had him shivering helplessly. Stumbling along, he tripped and fell to his knees several times in the snow drifts. His shoes weren't made for tromping though the snow, and his feet were soon so cold he couldn't feel them. Helplessly, he thought about turning back, not wanting to get lost and freeze to death, but his fear for Jessie kept him trudging on.

After what seemed like an hour, he stumbled into the mailbox. He wiped the snow off it, and his eyes widened when he read the Ottumwa, Iowa address. Boy, had he made a wrong turn!

He blinked his eyes against the stinging snow and stumbled down what he was pretty sure was the driveway. He could see no lights from a house, but the snow was so thick, there was no way to tell. Bending his head against the wind, he tried to follow what he thought was the driveway. He would stop after a few weary feet and peer ahead, hoping to see the shape of a house.

Timothy felt the cold deep into his bones and fell to his knees from exhaustion. But, this time, he saw it. A house! Weak from relief, he rose unsteadily and half-stumbled, half ran through the snow. Landing on the front steps with a thump, he sat for a moment on the icy steps, catching his breath and beating his arms on his chest. He managed to walk up the remaining steps and stumble to a window, peering inside. There was not a light on in the house, but he thought he saw a glow from the back. Tripping to the front door, he banged on it with all his strength.

"Help!" he called, praying there was someone inside. "For the love of God, help!" There was no answer, and his heart sank. He turned and leaned helplessly against the old wood, trying to figure out what to do next.

Timothy practically fell into the front room when the door opened. He jumped back in time to keep from falling into the house. A man stood there, peering at Timothy in the light of the lantern, as he tried to catch his breath. The man reached out and grabbed his arm, practically yanking him into the house. He slammed the door against the winter cold. "What are you doing out in this weather?" he asked.

Timothy, teeth chattering in the warm house, found he had a hard time answering.

"What on earth?" a voice said. An older woman stood in the entrance to what looked like the kitchen. "Who is it, Walter?"

"I don't know, Ma."

Timothy allowed himself to be led into the even warmer kitchen. A huge fire was going, casting dancing shadows on the wall. He heard the two talking to each other, but all he could focus on was the fire.

Gingerly, the woman sat him down by the fire and started peeling his wet coat off his shoulders. "Dear, you're chilled to the bone!" she said, tsking at the sodden coat. Timothy grasped his coat around his shoulders. "N-no!" he said, making the woman jump backwards. "I-I've got-t-t t-to go b-back," he said, shivering. The warmth of the fire helped thaw him out.

She put her hands on her hips. "You're not going anywhere until this blows over."

Timothy struggled to stand up. "I-I have t-t-to go b-back for h-her."

The man she called Walter was watching him. "Go back for who?" he asked, straightening his glasses on his nose.

"M-Mis-ss J-Jes -," he started, teeth chattering violently. Mrs. O'Reilly wrapped a blanket over his shoulders and huddled underneath it. He looked around the cheery kitchen. "Is there a phone w-where we can c-call a wr-wrecker or an ambulance?" He asked.

Mrs. O'Reilly glanced up at her son, concerned. "Dear, the phone went out hours ago, along with the electricity. Won't be back on until the storm blows itself out I imagine. What do you need a wrecker or ambulance for, Mr -?" She looked at the man.

"Timothy L-l-locklin," he answered helplessly. "I-I l-left her in the car about a m-mile up the road. She's s-sick."

Radar and Mrs. O'Reilly looked up at each other. I doubt anyone left in this storm will make it for long . . .

Mrs. O'Reilly immediately began gathering up extra blankets. "Don't worry Mr. Locklin," she said as she passed by Timothy, still shivering next to the fire, with an armful of quilts. "Walter will bring her back here."

Timothy sneezed. "T-thank you so much." The fire was making him drowsy.

Radar put on all the layers he could and still be able to walk in the snow. "You reckon the truck in the barn will start?" he asked his mom as she pressed an armful of quilts into his arms.

"It better," she said, moving out of earshot of Timothy. "I doubt that girl will make it if she had to walk."

Radar gasped at the frigid air when he opened the door. He mumbled all the way to the barn about well-dressed city people getting themselves lost in a snowstorm. If it weren't for them, he would still be asleep in his warm bed instead of wandering around in a blizzard.

He managed to dig the snow away from the barn door and open it. Inside was much warmer, and the sound of the animals munching calmed him, if only a bit. Sluggishly, the old farm truck started, and he drove it out the barn, then got out into the storm to shut the barn door. He climbed back inside, turned up the heat and struggled down the driveway.

******************************************

Jessie was couldn't quite figure out why she was so cold, but sweating. The car quickly cooled off after it stopped running, and Jessie shivered uncontrollably under hers and Timothy's coats. Whimpering, she crawled into the floorboard and huddled there miserably. I made it through a war, but a stupid blizzard is going to kill me.

As her fever rose, she faded in and out of consciousness. She kept seeing things. She saw Andrea, Johnny and herself playing in their well-manicured front yard. She kept seeing classmates and friends she grew up with in happier times – at picnics and dances. The faces of people she knew danced around her, and it frightened her. She huddled even further in the floor of the car, pulling the coat over her head, and prayed.

*****************************************

Being accustomed to driving in snow, Radar carefully maneuvered the rusty truck about a mile in the road. Sure enough, leaning against a tree in a ditch, flashers dimly blinking, was a fancy black car with Virginia plates. He studied it in the falling snow. It looked deserted to him.

He left the truck running, headlights shining on the door. Climbing out into the frigid weather, he beat his arms across his body to keep warm. He wiped the frost off the back windows when he reached the car, but couldn't see anything in the backseat. Maybe she went for help, too. He tried the door, and it creaked open.

He peered into the large backseat and saw something in the floorboard on the other side, huddled underneath a large black coat. Whoever was under it coughed, and he winced at the sound. Boy, she is sick, but at least she's still alive.

"Hey?" he said softly. He climbed into the backseat and pulled back the coat. "I'm goin' get you out now, OK? You'll be alright." The woman had her head buried in her arms, and she whimpered when he pulled off the coat. Her hair was damp. Radar thought she had gone into the snow, until he reached out and touched her. She's burning up with fever! The woman whimpered again and shifted a bit in the cramped floorboard.

He reached out and grabbed the seat in front of him for support. There was absolutely no way that this wan, frail woman was his Jessie.

No, she's not my Jessie. Not anymore.

She didn't move at the sound of her name. Radar grabbed her arm and shook. "Jessie?"

This time, she opened her feverish green eyes and squinted up at him. "Timothy? Where's Timothy? He left in the snow," she said faintly. Her eyes fluttered closed.

"Oh, no you don't!" Radar said, shaking her, his heart racing. "We've got to get you out of here!"

Jessie stirred and coughed loudly. Laboriously with Radar's help, she managed to crawl out of the floorboard into a sitting position on the seat.

"I-I can't move," she whispered, her eyes still closed. "It hurts."

Radar tried to remain calm. He crawled inside the freezing car and picked her halfway up, dragging her across the seat. He was surprised how light she was as he stumbled to the truck with her in his arms. He managed to open the passenger side door and lay her gently on the front seat. She mumbled a bit as he wrapped her in a few of the blankets. Then, she curled up in a big quilted ball on the seat.

He sprinted around the truck and climbed into the driver's side. Gunning the engine, he slipped and slid back the way he had come. Once, he used too much gas and thought he was stuck in a large snowdrift.

"C'mon, c'mon," he muttered impatiently, glancing at Jessie huddled in the seat next to him. What are those odds? I can't believe it's really her . . . The truck lurched forward, and Jessie's damp head popped up.

"Wha?" she said, startled. Weakly, she grabbed the dash and pulled herself into a sitting position. Confused, she started at the worn dash of the old truck and looked over at the driver sawing on the wheel of the truck. The back end of the truck slid, and he jerked the wheel to the right, then left. Jessie was thrown against the passenger door, then slid against the driver, too weak to brace herself. She hit her head on his shoulder and gasped.

"Jess, are you OK?" the driver said, stopping the truck in the road.

Jessie slowly raised her head, feverishly trying to understand what was going on and met the driver's eyes. She was supposed to be in her big black Lincoln going to Missouri, but instead, she found herself being tossed about in this musty, dusty old truck with . . .

"Radar?" she mumbled, then shook her head slowly, looking away. OK, now I've totally lost it. She curled against whoever it was. "God, I really am seeing things now," she whispered out loud, then coughed, grasping his arm for support.

By the time they reached the farmhouse, Jessie was unconscious again. Radar slid to a stop at the steps and jumped out. He was going to have to dig the truck out from several feet of snow when all this was over, but he didn't think he could carry her in this blizzard all the way from the barn. Gently, he pulled her out of the truck from the driver's side. When the biting cold hit her face, she moaned and buried her face in his chest, hands weakly grabbing the collar of his coat.

He burst through the doors, Jessie in his arms.

Timothy, his clothes drying by the fire, and Mrs. O'Reilly jumped at the noise. Seeing her son's stricken face, she thought the girl was already dead.

So did Timothy. "Is she . . ." he gasped.

Radar shook his head. "She's alive, but she's burning up. Ma, where do you want me to put her?"

Mrs. O'Reilly bustled down the hall with the lantern. "Put her down by the fire until I get this front bedroom ready. I'll start a fire in there to keep her warm." She disappeared into the darkness.

Radar, tracking snow all throughout the house, walked into the kitchen and sat her down in front of the hearth. When he moved back to let her go, she held onto his coat with surprising strength.

"Don't leave me. Not again," she whispered, her eyes clamped shut.

Timothy looked at Radar quizzically, but Radar didn't notice the man's look. Her words staggered him.

"I-I'm not going anywhere," he whispered, sitting down and gathering her back into his arms. Still clutching his jacket, she lay against his chest.

Timothy put another blanket around her thin shoulders. "We couldn't find a flight out of Helena in this storm," Timothy said hesitantly. "There weren't any hotel rooms to be had, and she was already feeling sick. But, she insisted it was just . . . a cold or something." He watched Jessie, still grasping onto Radar's shirt for dear life, coughing occasionally. "I should have insisted she stay."

"She's always been stubborn," Radar said softly. He held tighter to Jessie as another coughing spasm racked her body.

Timothy, confused, watched Radar closely. "How do. . ."

Mrs. O'Reilly bustled back into the kitchen, holding the lantern high. "OK, Walter, the fire's going and the bed's made. Let's get her back there."

Carefully, Radar stood, still cradling Jessie. Timothy, blanket wrapped around his shoulders, followed. The room was small and decorated sparsely, but it was already beginning to warm from the fire. Radar gently laid her down on the bed. She whimpered softly as he carefully pried her fingers away from his collar. When he laid her hands down on the quilt, the light from the fire caught the obscenely large diamond on her left hand. An engagement ring . . .

"Now, both of you get out of here," Mrs. O'Reilly said. "I need to get her out of these clothes and into something more comfortable." Jessie moaned softly and flailed on the bed. Unwillingly, Radar let go of her hand and followed Timothy out the door.

********************************

"You're pretty sure it's pneumonia?" Timothy said, peering tiredly up at Mrs. O'Reilly. She washed her hands in the kitchen sink as she talked.

"As long as we get her fever down, she should be right as rain in a few days," she said, drying her hands on a towel. "She's young and tough. I'll stay up with her tonight and keep an eye on her." She stared at Timothy, who was yawning widely. Radar sat next to him, watching the flames, lost in thought.

Timothy stood up. "Walter, you said earlier that Miss Jessie has 'always been stubborn.' What did you mean?"

"We were in Korea together," Radar replied stoically, his eyes never leaving the dancing flames.

Timothy studied him closer, understanding dawning in his face. "Excuse me for being forward, but I think Jessie has a picture of you on the wall of her office back in Virginia." He cleared his throat. "Actually, it's a painting. A really bad painting.

Radar chuckled a bit. "Col. Potter did that for her for her birthday. I didn't know she still had it."

"The interior decorator had a fit when she saw it, but Jessie said that it stayed. Along with some other things, too. This stuffed pink horse and pictures of her with other nurses. And this crazy looking Stetson hat." He shook his head, amused. "You know, she actually wears that hat on occasion at concerts."

"Hawkeye and B.J. gave that hat to her for her birthday, the same time that Col. Potter gave her the painting," Radar said, remembering the day just like it was yesterday as he stared into the fire. The look on her face when she opened the necklace . . .Timothy yawned widely. "Miss Jessie never talks much about Korea. I figure it was something she probably doesn't want to remember much." He turned to head into the darkened hallway. "But, she sure takes great store in the things displayed in her office." He disappeared down the hall.

Mrs. O'Reilly stood behind her son. "She'll be fine," she said, rubbing his shoulders.

"Thanks, Ma."

But what about me?

***************************************

The storm continued into the next day and night. Jessie, oblivious to it all, tossed and turned in the bed, coughing and moaning. All the nightmares she ever had upon returning from Korea didn't match the terror of these fever-induced dreams. All during the first night Mrs. O'Reilly sat up with her, mopping her forehead and giving her whatever medication she thought would help.

Radar would sit with Jessie while his mother napped. He sat safely across the room and watched. Not that he was scared of germs- pneumonia wasn't contagious. What he really wanted to do was hold her hand and tell her everything was going to be fine, just like he did after she was shot. But, he'd catch sight of the ring on her finger and know that he was too late. So, he just watched her sleep fitfully hour after hour, the snow still falling outside.

******************************

Jessie opened her eyes slowly. Just where in the world am I? She studied the clean, but threadbare quilt on the bed. The room and its furnishings were just as clean and well-cared for, but a little worn, as well. The fire glowing across the room threw dark shadows in the corners. Jessie licked her parched lips. I'm sick, that's it! Did I hear something about pneumonia? Events over the last two, or was it three days, swirled through her head. Montana. The snow storm. The car. She didn't remember much after that.

Timothy, where was Timothy?

Jessie opened her mouth to say something, but all that came out was a whisper. Her raw throat wasn't responding too well. She wriggled her feet anxiously and hit a suspicious lump. Raising up as well as she could, Jessie peered towards the foot of the bed. A pair of brown eyes stared back at her.

"You're awake," the small girl said. She had been reading a book, snuggled up on the footboard. She shut it and studied Jessie closely.

"Hi," Jessie managed to croak.

"Hi," the girl said, just like she was at a church social and not at the foot of a sick stranger's bed. Jessie had to smile.

"My name's Lizzie."

"My name's . . ."

"Jessie, I know," she said. "Mr. Timothy told us. He's nice. He made me this." She held up a small whittled dog.

Jessie untangled her arm from the covers and took it from her. We must have been here awhile if he had time to do this.

"Where's your mother?" Jessie whispered, deciding that was better than trying to croak. Boy, all my concerts are going to be canceled for awhile, that's for sure.

"She's in heaven. She died with my baby brother," Lizzie said simply, brushing her straight brown hair out of her eyes. "My Granny takes care of me now."

"Well, where is your Granny?" Jessie said, patiently. She could tell she was going to have to pry information out of this child.

"Asleep," Lizzie said. "Granny, Papa and Mr. Timothy took turns staying up with you." She leaned closer to Jessie. "You were really sick, you know. Papa was really worried."

Jessie leaned closer. "Well, where is your Papa, then?" Jessie was beginning to wonder if this child was here by herself. I sure am dying for something to drink. . .

"Liz, go to the kitchen and get Miss Jessie some water," a voice from the shadows said.

Jessie jumped, not knowing anyone else was in the room.

Lizzie looked like she was about to protest, but sighed and climbed from the bed.

Jessie peered into the shadows. Someone was sitting in a lounge chair in the corner. He stood up and stretched. Something tried to surface in her cloudy mind. That voice was so familiar . . .

"Radar?" she said, eyes widening.

He emerged hesitantly from the shadows, a familiar crooked smile on his face.

"What am I . . . How did you . . . Where am . . .?" Jessie sputtered. She stared at him, speechless. Feeling a little dizzy, she leaned back in the pillows.

Radar jammed his hands in his pants pockets, a nervous gesture Jessie remembered all too well and watched her. Her eyes, now clear, were as green as he remembered them. He didn't quite know where to begin.

Maybe with 'I've missed you.'

"Oh, child, we're so glad you're awake," an older woman said, walking into the room with Lizzie and Timothy right behind her before Radar could answer. The woman, Jessie was pretty sure she was Mrs. O'Reilly, had a tray with a bowl on it. She sat it in front of Jessie, who was still a little shell-shocked. Settling in at the edge of the bed, she put the spoon in the excellent-smelling soup. Jessie obediently opened her mouth, and Mrs. O'Reilly shoveled the soup in.

Delicious!

Resisting the urge to drink directly from the bowl, Jessie put her hand in front of her mouth when Mrs. O'Reilly came at her with another spoonful. "Stop, please."

Mrs. O'Reilly looked at Jessie quizzically. "You don't like it?"

"No, I love it," she said honestly. "But, you have to tell me how in God's name I wound up in Ottumwa, Iowa." She stared pointedly at Radar, who was watching the scene with guarded eyes from his safe place across the room.

Everyone started talking at once, except Radar. He turned and left the room.

"Wait a minute!" She resisted the urge to whistle shrilly. The blabbering stopped. She pointed at Timothy. "You first," she said, taking the spoon from Mrs. O'Reilly and digging in as he talked.

She was finished with the soup and starting on a second one before he was done. Mrs. O'Reilly filled in some of the details along the way.

"You mean, I've been here for almost three days?" Jessie said, incredulously. A wave of exhaustion crept over her, but she fought it. She had to hear the rest of this story.

"Storm hasn't let up in three days," Timothy said. He was so relieved to see Jessie awake that he could have cried. "No phone or electricity."

"No phone," Jessie muttered, playing with her ring absently. "You mean . . ."

Timothy shook his head. "Nope, we can't get in touch with anyone."

"He must be frantic," Jessie muttered.

Mrs. O'Reilly patted her on the shoulder. "We'll let him know as soon as the phones are up. OK, everyone, it's time for Jessie to get some sleep."

"But, she's been sleeping for two whole days," Lizzie protested, peering up at Jessie. "I want to talk to her."

Jessie smiled down at the girl. "I'm certainly not going anywhere anytime soon. You can see me later."

Lizzie, satisfied with the answer, followed her grandmother obediently out of the room.

Timothy reached over and hugged her. She was touched when she saw tears in his eyes.

"I was really sick, wasn't I?"

"You scared us all." Timothy cleared his throat. "Even Walter. We had to practically drag him away from you to get some sleep."

Jessie looked down at the quilt. She remembered how frantic he was after she was shot – it seemed like such a long time ago! She saw her ring catch the firelight and flinched. Timothy quietly left the room, leaving her alone.

She settled back underneath the blankets, but found she couldn't sleep. Her mind was jumping back and forth. What are the odds of landing here? She felt a tear slide down her cheek.

*****************************

Radar used the excuse of checking the fire to return to the room. Jessie was curled up underneath the blankets, her back to the door. He crept inside, trying to be as silent as possible. Sparks flew up the chimney as he added more wood to the blaze. He stood up wearily, wiping his hands on his pants. Knowing it wasn't a good idea, he slowly made his way over to the bed. Jessie, her breathing now deep and even, slept with her hand curled up underneath her cheek.

He remembered the first time he saw her, after they ran into each other and she filled out the mountain of paperwork. She had fallen asleep in his cot. Just like he did then, he brushed an errant strand of hair that had fallen on her cheek.

His hand stopped when he saw her necklace. She still wore it . . . He picked it up and studied the small pearl, then let it fall back into place.

The rest of the night, he wondered what that meant.

**********************************

The snow stopped during the night, and the next morning, the sun weakly shown through the clouds. Drifts were almost roof high in places, and phone and electricity were non-existent. Radar had a small measure of satisfaction from knowing that Jessie would be around a little while longer.

Radar came in from checking on the animals. His mother was in the kitchen making breakfast.

"How's everything in the barn?" she asked, kneading dough with her hands.

He took off his hat, scarf and coat and left them on pegs by the door. "Fine. That baby calf that was born before the storm seems to be doing OK."

Timothy was sitting by the fire whittling. Mrs. O'Reilly motioned down the hall.

"Wake up Lizzie and tell her breakfast is almost ready," she said, rolling the dough into balls. "I hope that child can go outside today. She's been driving me crazy!"

Radar smiled to himself. He knew his mother loved her granddaughter. He walked upstairs to Lizzie's room, but her rumpled bed was empty. He scratched his head in confusion, checking his room and his mother's. Lizzie wasn't anywhere to be found.

He stopped suddenly, knowing where the child was. Taking a deep breath, he walked back down the stairs. Steeling himself, he walked to Jessie's doorway.

As he expected, Lizzie was cuddled up next to Jessie, sound asleep. The sight of his child snuggled up with her brought tears to his eyes.

He was surprised when Jessie opened her eyes.

"Hi," she said, yawning.

"Hi," he replied softly.

"She just made herself at home early this morning." She raised up and stroked her soft hair. "She's a wonderful child, Walter, she really is." I know she was worth it.

Radar didn't reply through the lump in his throat, just nodded his head. He reached out and squeezed Jessie's hand.

Surprised, Jessie looked up into his sad blue eyes. She bit the inside of her lip to keep the tears from welling up.

Radar let go of her hand and cleared his throat. "Oh, um, breakfast is almost ready. You want me to bring you some?"

The smell of biscuits wafted into the room, and Jessie was suddenly ravenous. Lizzie stirred in her sleep, and Jessie shook her lightly. When she saw her father standing there, she sheepishly climbed out of the bed and scampered out of the room.

Jessie looked up at Radar. "You know, I think I want to eat breakfast with all of you."

"You mean, in the kitchen?" he said, realizing how dumb it sounded. He blushed slightly. "I mean, do you think you can make it?"

"Sure," Jessie said, throwing the blankets back. "Like Lizzie said, I've been sleeping for almost three days. I should be able to walk down the hall." She planted her feet on the floor and stood up, but didn't count on how dizzy she would be.

Radar caught her as she stumbled. "Hey, take it easy," he said, softly, helping her stand. Jessie found herself looking directly into his eyes.

She caught her breath. "I-I'll be OK. Just help me."

They slowly made their way to the kitchen. Radar settled her at the kitchen table, wrapping her in quilts and generally making a fuss over her.

After breakfast, during which she hungrily devoured everything placed in front of her, Jessie decided she wanted to sit in the kitchen for awhile.

"I don't know," Radar said, studying the dark circles under her eyes. He was getting ready to go back out into the weather, dutifully pulling on scarves, hat and gloves. "I don't think it's such a good idea."

"Well, I don't exactly remember anything that said I had to get your permission to stay out of bed. Just go on and do whatever it is you farmers do."

"I just don't want you do overdo it, Jess," Radar replied, irritated. He plopped his hat on his head. "Ma, don't let her overdo it." He said to his mother before he escaped out the door. Giving Jessie a grin, Timothy followed him outside. Jessie resisted the urge to throw a leftover biscuit at the closing door.

Jessie jumped when Mrs. O'Reilly sat down a cup of orange juice in front of her. She was too busy scowling at the door to notice her presence.

"Err, thanks," she said, gratefully taking a sip. Lizzie had disappeared upstairs immediately after breakfast, and they had the kitchen to themselves. Mrs. O'Reilly refilled her coffee cup and sat down across from Jessie.

"He's just concerned about you, you know," Mrs. O'Reilly said, watching Jessie over the rim of her cup. "We all are."

"I know, I know," she sighed. She played with the cloth place mat on the table. She chuckled to herself. "It's just . . .been awhile."

"Awhile since what?" Mrs. O'Reilly asked innocently.

Jessie smoothed imaginary wrinkles out of the place mat. "It's been just me for so long, I guess I have a hard time having someone fussing over me, that's all."

Mrs. O'Reilly sat in silence for a moment, wondering what to say. "So, this Paul doesn't fuss over you much?" She, too, had noticed the huge engagement ring.

Jessie idly began twisting the ring around on her finger. "Oh, he fusses," she said carefully. "But, he gets paid to fuss, too. He's my manager, you know. If I don't stay healthy, I don't earn money, and he doesn't get paid. So, I guess he has a different incentive." Jessie knew that sounded harsh, but she wasn't in a very good mood.

Mrs. O'Reilly took another sip. "You make it sound like he doesn't care about you."

She propped her chin on her hand. "It's just . . . a little different, that's all."

"Well, do you love him?"

Ever since I've landed here, I'm not sure anymore what I want.

"Well, I think he's a lucky man," Mrs. O'Reilly said, not waiting for an answer.

Jessie looked up at the older woman and smiled. "Thanks," she said, meaning it.

Lizzie came scampering into the room with something bulky in her hands. She clambered up on the chair next to Jessie and thrust the items in Jessie's lap. Jessie found herself staring at . . . herself.

"I figured out where I've seen you before," Lizzie said, sounding proud.

Jessie thumbed through the small stack silently.

"Where did you get those, Elizabeth Anne?" Mrs. O'Reilly said sternly.

Lizzie held her head up high. "Papa gave them to me," Lizzie said defiantly. "They were Mama's. He said that she has a pretty voice, and I might like them." She looked back over at Jessie. "But, he sometimes listens to them. Usually when he seems sad. I listened to them, but I can't figure out what makes him sad."

"I-I don't know why, Lizzie. Have you asked him?" She felt a little guilty about grilling a five-year old, but curiosity was getting the best of her.

Jessie cocked her head in thought. "I asked him once. He said," She scrunched her face up, trying to recall the exact words. "He said that your songs reminded him of something he had lost." She nodded her head. "That's it."

Mrs. O'Reilly rose from the table and busily began cleaning up after breakfast. Jessie opened her mouth to comment, but Lizzie continued. "I wonder what it is he lost?" She looked at Jessie, hoping she could fill in the answers.

"Well," Jessie said slowly. "Maybe it was your mom?" She swallowed hard. That really could be the answer, but deep down inside, she hoped it wasn't. Then, she felt bad for thinking it.

Lizzie thought hard. "Yeah, that could be it," she said, thinking. "But, I don't think so." She jumped out of the chair, her mind already moving onto the next subject at hand. "I also found something else that you might like." Lizzie scampered out of the room and up the stairs.

Jessie caught Mrs. O'Reilly's eye. "I wonder what else she has up her sleeve," she mumbled. She rose stiffly from the chair and brought some empty breakfast plates to the older woman.

Mrs. O'Reilly took the dishes from Jessie and dumped them in the sink. "With that child, you never can tell. Just like her father, I guess." Jessie walked over to the table to get another armload of plates. She handed them silently to Mrs. O'Reilly.

Jessie cleared her throat. "So - and I know this is none of my business – does she know . . . about her real . . . I mean her . . ." Jessie trailed off, not quite finding the right words. She found a dishcloth and began wiping down the table and countertops to hide her embarrassment.

Mrs. O'Reilly studied Jessie closely. "She knows. Some children at school teased her about it. When she came home wanting to know, Walter sat her down and told her."

Jessie carefully folded the damp cloth and handed it back to Mrs. O'Reilly. She cleared her throat. "Have you heard from him? At all?"

Mrs. O'Reilly glanced at the ceiling when some bumping and banging could be heard. "Lord, what is that child up to?" She finished drying the last of the dishes and began putting them back slowly. "We did hear fourth-hand that he was killed in a barroom brawl in North Dakota, but we never could confirm it."

Jessie could tell it pained Mrs. O'Reilly to talk about it. This was her son, after all, no matter how disgraceful he could be. She took some silverware out of the sink to dry. "That must be hard, not knowing," she said softly.

"Yeah, it is," Mrs. O'Reilly said, stopping and looking at the frosty window into the frigid front yard. "But, I have Walter and Lizzie."

That's more than I have. "Yeah, she's a good kid," Jessie said. She was suddenly exhausted and walked slowly back to the chair. She plopped down and wrapped the quilts around her shoulders again.

Lizzie came clambering down the stairs once again. "I found it!" She bounded into the room with a rather worn guitar, which she extended proudly to Jessie. Amused, Jessie took it from her, inspecting it. It looked rather old, but seemed in good condition.

"It was my mom's." Lizzie, eyes wide, sat on the floor next to Jessie. "Sing something."

Jessie hummed to herself, tuning the guitar as she strummed. "I don't think I can right now," she said, clearing her throat.

"Now, Lizzie, you know that Miss Jessie has been sick. She might not feel like singing anything for awhile," Mrs. O'Reilly said. Lizzie looked crestfallen.

The child's disappointment touched Jessie. She handed the guitar back to Lizzie. "When I feel a little better, I promise I'll sing for you." Lizzie brightened slightly. "Now, you better put that back."

"Liz, don't you want to go outside?" Mrs. O'Reilly asked, hopefully.

Lizzie brightened even more at that suggestion. Cradling the guitar carefully, she clambered back up the stairs. Not two minutes later, she ran down the stairs again, bundled up with scarves, hats and mittens. Mrs. O'Reilly caught her in time to put on her coat, and she was out the door in a flash.

"I wish I had that much energy," Mrs. O'Reilly said, smiling.

"Me, too." All Jessie's energy she had this morning had disappeared, leaving her feeling exhausted. "I-I think I'm going to go back to bed, now, if you don't mind."

"Poor dear, do you need any help?" Mrs. O'Reilly said.

Jessie waved her off. "I'll be fine, thanks." Wearily, she made her way down the hall and flopped down on the comfortable mattress. With the sound of the fire crackling in the background, she fell into a deep sleep.

***********************************

When she awoke, it was dark. Power's still out. Someone, Jessie figured it was Radar, had added more fuel to the fire, and it shown brightly in the room. She heard laughter from down the hall, then smelt what she assumed was dinner.

Finally feeling well-rested, Jessie climbed out of the bed. She was surprised to see her own robe lying on the foot of the bed. Looking around, she realized that her luggage was sitting in a corner. Someone had gone to the car. Jessie looked down at the clothes she had been wearing, clothes she wondered belonged to Maryanne, and decided she wanted to freshen up.

Fifteen minutes later, feeling much better, Jessie walked down the hall to join everyone else. She stood in the darkened hallway for a moment. Timothy, usually very reserved, was using a flashlight to make finger puppets for Lizzie. Holding the flashlight and laughing hysterically, Lizzie would ask for a cat or a moose, and Timothy would comply the best he could. Jessie put her hand over her mouth to stifle a giggle as she walked into the room.

"Try a cow," she said to Timothy. Timothy winked at Jessie, then tried his best to bend his fingers to look like a cow in the flashlight, then mooed for affect. Lizzie snickered at his efforts.

"Well, at least you sound like a cow!" Jessie said, laughing. She settled next to Timothy. "Here, let me try." Jessie's efforts weren't much better, and all three of them were holding their stomachs from laughing as Mrs. O'Reilly finished dinner over the woodstove.

Radar trudged in the kitchen door. The sound of laughter made him smile despite his aching muscles. "Smells good, Ma," he said, shaking off the snow and mud from his boots. "Guess we still don't have power?"

"No, phone neither," Mrs. O'Reilly replied.

Jessie, Timothy and Lizzie were continuing their game. Timothy managed to make a fairly convincing bird, and he was showing Lizzie how to manage one with her small hands, as Jessie tried to make one herself. Mother and son watched the scene in silence.

Radar had a hard time taking his eyes off her. Timothy had insisted on going to the car, which was now under several feet of snow, to get her things. He had done the right thing because Jessie did seem to feel better wearing her own clothes. Her hair looked freshly washed, and she was wearing slacks and a green sweater from her luggage. The sweater brought out the color in her eyes, which he noticed even from across the dimly-lit room. Timothy said something to the two of them, and Jessie laughed merrily, her eyes bright.

"By you a drink, soldier?" she said, tossing her jacket across the bar and sitting down next to him.

"Oh, hey, Jess," Radar said distractedly. He idly took a sip from his glass.

Jessie leaned closer. "What kind of greeting is that? I've been gone for three days to that boring-as-hell conference, and that's the best you can do?"

"Sorry, Jess, it's just that . . ."

Klinger walked up from behind the bar. "And what'll m'lady be having tonight?"

She eyed Radar's glass. "I'll have what he's having."

"One scotch and water coming up," Klinger said, slinging a towel over his shoulder.

"Scotch and water?" she said, raising an eyebrow. "Whatever happened to Grape Nehis?"

"This isn't a Grape Nehi sort of occasion," Radar replied bitterly. He sighed. "Look, I really am glad you're back, it's just that . . ." He paused, then took another sip of his drink and made a face.

Jessie leaned in closer, linking his arm with hers.. "Hey, what's wrong?" She looked around the Officer's Club, but nothing seemed to be amiss.

"It's just that . . . well, today has been one-year since Col. Blake was killed."

"Yeah, Hawkeye was in here earlier, drunk as a skunk," Klinger interrupted, looking sad himself, placing Jessie's drink in front of her. She gratefully took a swallow. "I think he stumbled back to the Swamp. Unless an unlucky nurse happened along."

Jessie remained quiet, thinking. Although she never knew Colonel Blake, she felt like she did with the way everyone always talked about it. "Hey, didn't you tell me something about Hawkeye and Trapper carting Col. Blake's desk off for some penicillin or something?" She was relieved when she earned a small smile from Radar.

"Yeah, boy was he mad! He never could prove they did it, though." Radar chuckled to himself.

Jessie took another swallow of her drink. "How about the time that you, Trapper and Hawkeye made up a Captain, then killed him off? I love that story!"

Klinger laughed aloud. "Oh, boy, I remember that! I think Major Houlihan still thinks Tuttle was real!"

Radar smiled at the memory and re-told the story.

Jessie was in stitches by the time he was finished. "What about the one where you sent the lamb home that the Greek soldiers were supposed to cook and eat?"

Before too long, everyone who had served under Lt. Col. Henry Blake was crowded in the Officer's Club, laughing and telling their favorite stories.

Radar watched Jessie from across the room. She was laughing at something Hawkeye had said, her green eyes shining. She caught Radar's eyes and winked at him.

"Thanks," he mouthed at her from across the crowded room.

Jessie held up her glass and smiled in response.

"Did you hear a word I said, Walter?"

Radar shook himself from his revelry. His mother was standing at the counter, hands on her hips.

"Um . . .yeah," he said, trying to remember what his mother was saying. Something about boots. He picked up his filthy boots and placed them on the porch. When he turned around, everyone had resumed what they were doing, but Jessie. When he caught her gaze, she gave him a small smile, then turned to see what Lizzie was saying.

Jessie ate ravenously again at supper, especially since she had slept through lunch. When the table was cleared, they all settled next to the fire in the kitchen. The wind and snow had stopped, but the air outside was still frigid.

They sat silently for awhile. Jessie, sitting on the floor next to Timothy, watched him whittle what she was pretty sure was a bear. Lizzie played on the floor with some dolls, while Mrs. O'Reilly knitted. Radar sat at the kitchen table, mostly watching Jessie.

"Hey, I have an idea!" Lizzie said, jumping up and scattering dolls everywhere. "Let's play some music!"

"Honey, the radio doesn't work without electricity," Radar said patiently.

Lizzie shook her head impatiently, bounding across the room. She walked to the antique piano across the room and opened it. "Granny, you used to play the piano a lot."

"I didn't know you played," Jessie said to the older woman.

Mrs. O'Reilly put down her knitting and flexed her fingers. "I don't know if these old bones can still do it. What about you, Jessie?"

Jessie rose slowly from the floor, four pairs of eyes on her. "It's been awhile." She sat on the stool and settled in front of the keys. She played a few chords, then pounded into a fast-paced tune that she learned in school.

Lizzie grabbed Timothy's hand, and soon they were dancing around the room. Radar and Mrs. O'Reilly laughed as they watched. Jessie had her back to them, but she could tell Lizzie was having a good time.

The first song ended, and Jessie immediately started into another show tune. This time, Lizzie wanted to dance with her father, and they launched themselves across the kitchen floor. Timothy bowed to Mrs. O'Reilly and took her hand, and more sedately, they twirled away.

They were all laughing hysterically after three more songs. Jessie stood up from the piano. "That's all I remember from my lessons!" She maneuvered Mrs. O'Reilly to the stool. "Now, you play something."

"Oh, I don't know . . ."

"C'mon, Granny, please!" Lizzie begged, her hands clasped in front of her.

Mrs. O'Reilly smiled at her granddaughter. "OK, but I don't know as many fast songs as you." She hesitantly started the first few chords of "Tennessee Waltz."

Lizzie grabbed her father's hands, and they carefully waltzed across the room. Timothy and Jessie gracefully followed along with them.

Timothy surprised Jessie in the middle of the dance by waltzing up to Lizzie and Radar. He let go of Jessie and bowed exaggeratingly to Lizzie. "Madam Elizabeth, may I have the rest of this dance?"

Lizzie giggled hysterically. She took Radar's hand, then reached over and clasped Jessie's. She linked their hands together. Taking Timothy's outstretched hand, laughing, they waltzed awkwardly away, leaving Radar and Jessie to stare at each other.

Jessie swallowed hard as she looked into his eyes.

He took her hand, then placed his other carefully on her waist. "Ready?" he asked, hesitantly.

She nodded, afraid to speak.

She didn't know how long they waltzed, but she was fairly certain Mrs. O'Reilly started the song over. Jessie's heart was in her throat, and judging by the look in Radar's eyes, he was just as nervous as she was.

As the last few notes from the piano faded away, Lizzie, sitting in the corner with Timothy, applauded. Jessie and Radar stepped away from each other, but he still held onto her hand. They both bowed towards Lizzie and Timothy, which made Lizzie's giggles start over again.

A sharp ring made them all jump.

"The phone!" Mrs. O'Reilly said. She jumped up from the piano stool and went into the kitchen to answer it. Radar let go of Jessie's hand reluctantly.

Mrs. O'Reilly returned to the group. "That was just the sheriff wanting to know who the car up the road belonged to. He said there was a missing persons bulletin out on the plate."
Paul probably was frantic, and she hadn't even thought about him.

Timothy looked at Jessie. "I guess we should call Mr. Paul?"

Jessie sighed and looked at Radar, his expression guarded.

He motioned towards the phone. "Well, go ahead, he must be worried sick."

Jessie walked to the phone and dialed slowly. She wondered why she was not exactly thrilled about finally leaving here.

Paul answered the phone on the first ring. "Hello?" he said, almost frantic.

"Hi, Paul, it's me," Jessie said softly, turning towards the wall to get some privacy.

"Sweet Jesus, Jessie, where in the hell have you been? I've been worried sick!" She could hear other people talking in the background and wondered if he had a whole squadron of police officers on call.

"Well, we left behind the storm, but the storm got worse. Then, I got sick, we got stuck in the snow and Timothy walked a mile in a blizzard to find help," Jessie said emphatically. "Right now, I'm at a farm house in Iowa where we've been for the past three days."

"Are you OK? Are you still sick? Is Timothy OK?" Paul asked frantically.

"No, no, I'm fine now, just a little weak. I was told it was pneumonia, but our hosts pulled me through it," Jessie replied, fiddling with the cord on the phone. "Timothy's great. Our car is still stuck in about a foot of snow, though."

"Well, I'm going to come get you both. I'll be there as soon as I can," Paul said. Jessie pictured him already packing his bags. She felt guilty that she didn't miss him more. She gave him directions as best she could before she hung up.

"I love you, Jess," Paul said softly. "I've missed you. I can't wait to see you."

Jessie swallowed hard. "Me, too," was all she could manage before she quietly hung up the phone. When she turned around, Mrs. O'Reilly had returned to her knitting and Timothy to his whittling. Radar was no where to be found. She returned to the fire.

"Where's Ra-I mean Walter?" she asked, looking around the dimly-lit room. Where it had seemed so lively earlier, it seemed so dreary now.

"He went to put Lizzie to bed. Then, he said something about going back outside and do some chore or other he forgot," Mrs. O'Reilly said, knitting away.

"How's Mr. Paul?" Timothy said, detailing the bear he had been working on earlier.

Jessie looked at her hands, noticing the diamond sparkling in the firelight. "He was frantic, just as you thought," she said, managing a small smile for Timothy. "He said he'd be here as soon as he could to pick us up. I was under the impression he was leaving immediately."

Mrs. O'Reilly glanced up at Jessie's somber tone. Jessie stared idly into the flames.

**********************************************

Radar warmed himself by the little stove in the barn, rubbing his hands together. He eyed the wiring he was supposed to be repairing, then sighed and sat down on an overturned bucket. He couldn't concentrate on that right now. Heck, since Jessie had shown up, he couldn't concentrate on anything. He removed his hat and ran his fingers through his hair. Although they were just dancing, holding Jessie in his arms again had felt so right. He had almost forgotten that she didn't belong there, that she was only a visitor, and an accidental visitor at that. She sure was in a hurry to call her fiancée, too. He sighed and stuffed his hat back on his head.

They hadn't had a lot of time to talk. Part of him hoped it would stay that way, but the other part of him longed to talk to her, to tell her how many nights he had lain awake thinking about her. For several years, so many things he saw or heard or smelt reminding him of her that he thought he was crazy. Time had dulled the memories, but they were most certainly still there. Every since she had shown up, just laying his eyes on her made him think about the ones that hadn't surfaced in years.

Flexing his cold fingers, he sighed again. Putting out the fire in the small stove, he trudged back to the darkened house.

**************************************************

Jessie woke with a strange sensation that something was different. She stretched underneath the heavy blankets and looked bleary-eyed around the room.

There, in the corner! A lamp was on!

She sat up. So, the electricity was on now, too. With a pang, she realized that she would be leaving, and soon knowing Paul. She shut her eyes tight, wishing she weren't thinking such thoughts.

She opened her eyes when she heard a noise outside. That's when she noticed the strange light dancing on the wall in her bedroom. She looked towards the window as the glow intensified. Frightened, she jumped out of bed, and pulled back the curtains.

Smoke was billowing out of the roof of the barn, the flames just beginning to peak through. With a gasp, she ran across the room, slipping on her shoes and robe before flying out the door.

Everyone was gone but Lizzie, who was peacefully sleeping, oblivious to the fire outside. Jessie quietly shut the door to the little girl's room and ran downstairs to the phone.

The phone was dead again. She cursed and slammed it down in anger.

Smoke was hanging heavy in the air as she stumbled through the snow towards the barn. The cold air bit at her bare legs, but she held her robe tighter around herself. Lungs aching, she made it to Mrs. O'Reilly, who was standing stoically several yards away from the spectacle. Jessie followed her gaze.

Through her smoke-blurred eyes, Jessie saw Timothy and Radar running in and out of the burning structure, leading or carrying all the animals that were sheltered inside. The flames had not yet entirely engulfed the old building, but judging by the smoke pouring from both sides, it wouldn't be long until the structure was gone.

Horrified, Jessie watched the spectacle unfold.

A confused mare nuzzled her back, startling her. Looking around, she noticed all the rescued animals wandering aimlessly about the yard. Jessie tugged at Mrs. O'Reilly's arm. The older woman was rooted in one spot, so Jessie tugged harder.

"Let's put them somewhere," Jessie said, glad to have a job to do. Worried, she kept glancing over her shoulder to see where Timothy and Radar were. Mostly Timothy, right? "Where should we put them?"

Mrs. O'Reilly snapped out of her trance. "Oh, um, let's open the gate and put them in the small pasture there," she replied slowly.

They stumbled around the barn, coaxing horses, cows, donkeys, goats, pigs and sheep into the fence. Several of the animals were frightened of the soot and smoke belching from the structure, and they were almost trampled several times. But, they managed to corral most of the terrified animals.

Jessie's heart was hammering from exertion as she led the last skittish pony into the fence, Mrs. O'Reilly shutting the gate. A loud crash made them both jump, and they turned towards the barn, now almost fully involved. The two women coughed from the smoke in the air.

"Dear God," Jessie mumbled, her heart in her throat. She prayed that someone would see the flames and call the fire department. Mrs. O'Reilly grasped her arm, and the two women held each other tight.

Jessie didn't even want to think about the devastating effect this would have on the entire farming operation. While not at the O'Reilly farm for long, she knew it was struggling along, at best.

Timothy stumbled from the smoke, almost black from the ash, carrying two baby goats under either arm. He sat them down and collapsed on the ground next to Jessie. The babies scampered away. She automatically checked him for injuries, but found none. He just seemed to be winded.

Another crash and a scream from Mrs. O'Reilly made them both look up. One side of the barn groaned.

She grabbed Timothy's shoulders, making him look at her. "Timothy, where's Radar?" she asked, having to yell over the sound of the flames scorching the old wood.

"Who?" Timothy, breathing hard, asked.

Jessie resisted the urge to shake him. "Walter!"

Timothy answered, "He-he went back in. Said something about a calf." Before he got the words out of his mouth, there was a loud crack, and the roof on one side finally began to cave in.

Jessie shot forward, trying to stumble through the melting snow. A hand caught her and yanked her back. She struggled against Timothy's grasp.

"Let me go, damn you! We can't just leave him there!" she yelled, fighting him.

"Miss Jessie, you can't go in there!"

She didn't reply, but continued to struggle. With Timothy's arm around her waist to keep her from escaping, she watched through her tears as the roof continued to collapse. Her panic caused everything to seem magnified: the flames shooting into the air; the acrid smell of burning lumber; Mrs. O'Reilly sobbing. Jessie thought briefly she should try to console her, but she had gone numb. She stared at the door, willing him to come out of it. But, nothing but smoke billowed out.

Jessie felt a sob escape her lips and put her hand up to her mouth to control it. She wiped her eyes with her sleeve, and when she looked back, she swore she saw a shape.

Timothy had loosened his grasp on her while trying to console Mrs. O'Reilly, so she was able to wrench herself free, almost falling face first into the mushy snow. Scrambling to her feet, she ran to Radar, who was carrying a little brown calf. He made it several feet from the door until he stumbled and fell. The little calf skittered away, calling for its mother.

Jessie fell on her knees next to him.

He was covered with soot, but except for a deep cut on his arm, Jessie couldn't find any burns. He tried to speak, but each time he opened his mouth, he would only cough.

The flames were intense this close to the barn and sparks danced around them. Jessie half-dragged, half-carried him away, helping him to the front steps of the house where they both collapsed from exhaustion.

Radar struggled to sit on the first step. Jessie, panting, stood up, her knees more than a little wobbly.

He reached out and grabbed her hand, surprising her. "Stay here," he whispered hoarsely.

She looked at him. He was clutching his injured arm with one hand, but his other hand held onto hers. Stoically, he watched the barn, which was now totally engulfed.

Automatically, Jessie sat behind him, one step higher. Just like she had every right to, she wrapped her arms around his chest from behind and put her chin on his shoulder until his breathing eased and his heart rate slowed.

After Mrs. O'Reilly saw that her son would be fine, she settled on the porch behind them, sniffing occasionally with Timothy next to her. The far away sound of sirens pierced the air, a little too late.

Jessie shifted and brushed against his injured arm, making him flinch.

"Watching this thing burn isn't going to help. Let's go inside, and let me look at that," she whispered patiently.

After a pause, he nodded his head slowly. Jessie helped him up and led him in the house. His mother hugged him tightly before he walked inside.

She sat him down at the kitchen table and rummaged around until she found a first aid kit. Finding a clean cloth, she ran a bowl of warm water. The sound of sirens grew louder as she sat beside him.

He tried to stand. "I guess I need to be out there with them," he mumbled.

Jessie grabbed his arm and sat him back down in the chair. "Oh, no you don't." "There's not a thing you can do but get in the way. Now, take off your coat."

Obediently, he shed his filthy jacket, which Jessie tossed onto the floor. She sat him back down and pulled his sleeve away from the cut.

Both of them were silent as she dabbed, totally focused on her work. He winced, and she eased off a bit. It was easier to take her mind off what had just happened, the shaking in her hands easing as she concentrated on the cut. It was always like that in Korea. As long as she had nursing to throw herself into, she could at least briefly forget about her problems. And, now was no different.

He watched her while she worked. She seemed pale and drawn, from the pneumonia no doubt, but even with soot streaked across her face and clothes, she was as beautiful to him as ever. And, she still wore the same perfume, a smell he had become so familiar with in Korea. It almost brought tears to his eyes.

She glanced at him, feeling his eyes on her. "What?" She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, hoping she didn't sound too gruff, her eyes never leaving his.

He was at a loss for words. Apparently, she was, too, because all she did was return his stare.

At the same time, they reached for each other. The first aid kit fell to the floor as Jessie put her arms around his neck. When their lips touched, her mind reeled.

God, how she'd missed him! Every emotion she had fought desperately to keep locked up deep inside resurfaced, shattering years of resolve to forget and get on with her life. The years fell away, and they were back in Korea, holding onto each other for dear life, desperately trying to find love in an unforgiving world.

The feel of her body against his was all he remembered it to be. It was almost unbelievable that he was holding her now, and if it wasn't for the pain in his arm, he would think it was a dream.

Through her jumbled mind, she heard a noise, and they both jumped away from each other, breathing heavily.

Mrs. O'Reilly trudged into the kitchen. Glad for a diversion, Jessie began picking up the contents from the first aid box, her face aflame.

Without removing her dirty boots or coat, Mrs. O'Reilly sat down hard in a chair. "It's all gone. Everything. They couldn't save a thing." She put her head in her hands. "What're we going to do?"

Still reeling from their kiss, Radar had a hard time remembering exactly what had happened.

Oh yeah, the barn.

His heart sank. They couldn't afford to rebuild it. Heck, they couldn't even afford to make the loan payments to the bank they were paying now!

"It'll be alright, Ma," Radar said wearily. "We have insurance." But it wouldn't be enough to replace the barn and what was in it.

He jumped when he felt alcohol stinging his arm. "Ow!"

"Be still," Jessie said quietly. She couldn't look him in the eye, and she wondered if his face was flaming as much as hers.

Mrs. O'Reilly looked up at the pair. Jessie's face was so red, Mrs. O'Reilly started to ask if she had gotten too close to the flames. And her robe definitely had more soot and ash on it than it earlier. She looked at Radar, who looked just as sheepish as Jessie.

And, then she knew.

Despite her concern over this new twist in their finances, she smiled to herself.

Jessie, satisfied with her bandaging efforts, began to clean up the mess she had made. She walked to the sink to put up her supplies.

Now that Jessie wasn't so close, Radar had returned to his senses. "Look, I'll just go to the bank tomorrow and get Mr. Braswell to extend our loan."

They both jumped at a loud clank.

Jessie had dropped the bowl in the sink and turned to face the two of them. "Look, I owe you both so much after looking after Timothy and me. Let me pay you for that. Then, you can rebuild your barn."

"Absolutely not!" he replied vehemently, surprising even himself. "I will not take your money."

She wiped her hands on a towel and throwing it in the sink, expecting this reaction and put her hands on her hips. "If I had stayed in a hospital, I would have paid top dollar for half the care you gave. It's money I owe you."

He slammed his hands on the table and standing up fast, the chair scraping loudly on the floor. "This is my problem, and I'll deal with it! Mr. Braswell will loan us more money."

Mrs. O'Reilly watched quietly as the shouting grew louder.

Jessie moved in closer from the kitchen. "Oh, I'm sure he will and at an expensive interest rate, too," she said sarcastically. "Funny that he can't even help his own granddaughter's family! Of course, I'm sure he's forgotten all about that nasty business!"

"What do you care anyway? By tonight, you'll be gone! Just let us deal with it our way and go about your business!"

"Don't you realize that if you had asked me for help five years ago, this would be our problem, not just your problem! But, nooo, you had to take the noble way out and send me a Dear Jane letter, leaving me alone in godforsaken Korea!"

He was immediately on the defensive, not liking all his faults shoved in his face.

"It's not like I wanted to! That's still is the worst thing I've ever done. Plus, according to Klinger, you weren't exactly alone." He crossed his arms in front of him. "Apparently, you and Major Winchester were pretty chummy."

Jessie yelled back, stung. "He was there for me when I was alone and afraid. I helped him through rough times, and he helped me. That's what lovers are supposed to do, you know, not make tough decisions by themselves and leave the other to wonder what the hell went wrong!" She slammed her fist down on the countertop and was grateful for the pain that shot up her arm. At least it temporarily overshadowed the pain in her heart.

He didn't reply, his gaze settling away from her, and she looked over at Mrs. O'Reilly, finally remembering that she was even there. To make matters worse, Lizzie had appeared at some point and was sitting in her grandmother's lap, sucking her thumb, a tear slowly falling down her cheek.

Radar took the little girl in his arms, soothing her.

Jessie doubted Lizzie understood anything that was said, but the sight of the child made her anger disappear. She whirled around and ran out the door into the smoky night.

Stomping across the yard, criss-crossed with tracks from the fire engines, she mumbled to herself. The flashing red lights threw erratic patterns on the snow. She wrapped her arms around her body, the cold seeping through her ruined robe. Spotting Timothy, she stomped over to him.

They stood together, watching the firefighters rooting through the rubble to put out any hot spots that remained. The barn was reduced to a pile of smoking ash. Jessie could see in the dim light of dawn the remains of a few tractors and other equipment. She wrapped her arm through Timothy's and sighed.

"What do you think they'll do?" Timothy asked. They backed out of the way as a fireman rushed by with a dripping hose.

Jessie sniffed. "I don't know. We were just discussing that now." She bit her lip. But, damn it, I'm not going to cry!

Timothy patted her hand absently. "You offered to help, didn't you?"

"They wouldn't take it, even after all they've done for us."

"I figured that would happen." He looked down at Jessie and saw a lone tear trek down her dirty face. He looked back at what used to be the O'Reilly barn. "That's him, isn't it?"

"Who?" Jessie replied absently.

"Walter. He's the one from Korea, isn't he?"

She looked up at him. "How do you know?"

Timothy tucked Jessie's arm tighter in his own. "I might be old, but I'm not dumb. There's something between you to that I've never seen before." He paused. "Even with Paul."

Jessie sighed and removed her arm from his. "Timothy, you watch too many soap operas."

When he looked down at her, she was smiling at him with that smile that never seemed to reach her eyes. He patted her arm and chuckled as she walked away.

Jessie wearily walked up the front steps, pausing at the top and turning to look up into the sky. Dawn was coming, but she could still see a few stars twinkling, despite the haze of smoke. She wrapped her arm around the post and leaned her cheek against it, deep in thought. Another tear ran down her cheek as she watched dawn come.

How had I let it all come to this?

She heard the door open and shut softly, but she continued to stare out into the fields around the house.

"I used to dream about all this," she began softly, tears blurring her vision. "Acres and acres of cornfields and pastures with a little white farm house in the middle." She sniffed and wiped her nose on her dirty robe. "I'd always wake up sad." She chuckled to herself. "Then, lost in the middle of a blizzard, I somehow wind up here. What are those odds I wonder? Maybe I should take a side trip to Vegas or something."

Radar didn't reply.

Wearily, she turned from the snow-covered landscape and sat in a swing nearby. It creaked on its chains as it moved. A quilt was lying in the seat, and she wrapped it around herself.

He stood by the door. Although the sun was rising, there was not enough light to see his face.

"Did you love Maryanne?" she asked, for some reason needing to know.

He didn't seem surprised by her question. "I learned to," he replied slowly, not meeting Jessie's gaze. "But, it was . . . different than me and you."

She didn't reply. What could she say?

He was quiet for a moment longer. "Do you know they all wrote me? After . . . after I sent you that last letter?"

Jessie stopped swinging. "What do you mean?"

"Major Winchester, Major Houlihan, Father Mulcahy, Col. Potter, they all did."

She resumed swinging slowly. "What did they say?"

He jammed his hands in his pockets and leaned next to the front door. "That I was crazy for letting you go. They all offered to help me get out of my problems with the bank." He chuckled softly. "I even got a drunken call from Hawkeye one night. He threatened to have me re-drafted."

Jessie didn't realize the efforts her friends had gone through. "They're good people. All of them."

"I . . . I didn't worry about you as much because you had all of them to help you."

"I. . .I think I was fighting myself more than I was fighting them. It was all so . . . so surreal." Immediately, she was taken back to the day she read his last letter. Unbidden, tears welled up. "By the time I got your letter, it was too late. You were married." She used the quilt to wipe her face, leaving dark smudges on the faded print. "I kept thinking over-and-over, 'There had to have been another way out.'" She shrugged. "But, I guess there wasn't."

She stopped trying to wipe her tears and let them fall. "Hawkeye told me not too long ago about Maryanne and the baby."

Radar looked at the floor. "She had a hard time with Lizzie, and the doctor told her no more children. I tried to tell her that one was enough." He swallowed hard. "I-I buried them together. He was so . . .tiny, I couldn't bury him by himself."

"I'm so sorry. I really am."

He wouldn't look at her. "You know, I stood at her grave a long time after the funeral. I felt . . . guilty somehow, like her death was my fault. Our entire marriage, I kept wishing she were you. When she died, then the baby, I felt like I was being punished for it." He took a deep breath, his admission taking a lot out of him.

Jessie wiped her nose. "God doesn't work that way."

Radar shrugged. "Yeah, I know," he said simply. "I know that, now, anyway." He ached to reach out and hold her, and the memory of their kiss still lingered in his mind. They were quiet for a moment until he continued. "Do you love him? Paul, I mean," he asked quietly.

No, but I'll learn to. "He's a good man."

Radar scuffed the toe of his boot on a worn patch of wood on the floor. "When's the wedding?"

"In two months."

"I-I really do hope he makes you happy," he said, with some effort. "You deserve it. But, just answer one question for me."

Jessie met his intense gaze.

"Why do you still wear the necklace?"

Because I loved you. She picked up the small pearl and studied it. But, she didn't say it.

Radar watched her as she idly pushed the swing back and forth with her leg. "I . . . loved you, too." He almost choked on the past tense.

She looked at him, wondering how time and life could be so cruel. All they wanted was happiness, and they had found that with each other. But, no matter how much they wanted it to be so, it just wasn't meant to be.

Strange that she was still trying to convince herself of that so many years later.

The sound of a car pulling into the front lawn made them both look towards the yard. Jessie didn't recognize the vehicle. She glanced over at Radar, and he didn't, either. The vehicle stopped near the porch, and the driver emerged.

"Jess? Jess, is that you?"

"Paul!" Jessie said, a little guilt in her voice. She jumped from the swing, but he met her at the steps. He wrapped her in a bear hug.

"How in the world did you get here so fast?" Jessie said from deep within his coat.

"Managed to catch a flight to Lincoln, Nebraska. Drove the rest of the way.". He held her at arms length, eyeing her soot-covered face and clothes. "You look awful."

"Gee, thanks, Paul, it's good to see you, too," Jessie said sarcastically.

"No, I didn't mean it that way . . ." Paul looked out to the ruins of the barn. "Good Lord, what happened here? It looks like a bomb went off."

"Barn burned," Jessie said. She turned around to see where Radar was, but he had disappeared.

Paul whistled low. "What a mess."

"You don't even know," Jessie said under her breath.

"What did you say?"

Jessie smiled. "Nothing, nothing."

Paul touched her cheek lightly. "I was afraid something awful had happened to you. I kept picturing . . ."

Jessie elbowed him in the ribs. "None of that now. I'm fit as a fiddle. Apparently, this Midwestern air agrees with me." She drug Paul inside, wondering where Radar was.

He wasn't in the house, either. Jessie introduced Paul to Mrs. O'Reilly, who greeted him warmly and fussed over him for making such a long trip in such a short time. Jessie disappeared to her room to clean up.

"How long are you going to be with us, Paul?" Mrs. O'Reilly asked, preparing a pot of coffee.

"Well, since the roads are clear, I figured we can be on our way in a few hours," Paul replied, sniffing the air. "Hey, is that homemade biscuits I smell?"

Mrs. O'Reilly nodded.

"Well, we can be along after breakfast, I suppose."

********************************

Radar still hadn't shown up for breakfast. Lizzie bounded down the stairs and hugged Jessie, apparently having already forgotten about the argument she overheard earlier. When she saw Paul at the table, she stopped and clutched Jessie's hand.

"You're going to leave now, aren't you?"

"I can't stay here forever."

"Why not? Papa likes you. Don't you like him?"

Jessie cringed, glancing at Paul. He was busy pouring globs of syrup on his biscuits and talking with Timothy. She knelt in front of Lizzie.

"Yes, Liz, I like him. But, I have to go home."

Lizzie was watching her with big brown eyes. "Can I come visit?"

Jessie laughed. "You sure can. Whenever you like. I have a big house with a lot of rooms, and I'll let you pick the one you like best. It'll be your very own room."

Lizzie's eyes brightened. "Can Papa and Granny come, too?"

"Sure," she said a little too brightly. She picked Lizzie up and put her in a chair. "Now, eat breakfast before it gets cold."

Jessie settled next to Paul, who was working on a pile of eggs.

"This is the best breakfast I've had in a long time!" he said between mouthfuls.

Mrs. O'Reilly beamed. "Jessie, aren't you hungry?" she said, watching Jessie pick at her food.

"Not really. I guess all the . . . .excitement this morning made me lose my appetite." She dutifully stuck a bite of biscuit in her mouth.

"Hey, where's O'Reilly?" Paul said, wiping his mouth. He looked at Jessie. "Didn't you tell me the two of you knew each other from Korea? How strange that you would wind up here."

Jessie almost choked. Sputtering, she took at sip of orange juice.

Thankfully, Mrs. O'Reilly stepped in. "Oh, Walter is outside talking with the firemen and inspecting what's left of the barn." She looked specifically at Jessie. "I'm sure he'll want to see you before you go."

I doubt it.

Before Jessie realized it, Paul had her packed and ready to go. He and Timothy were out in the car, loading the luggage.

When Jessie walked through the kitchen, Mrs. O'Reilly pressed a picnic basket into Jessie's hands. "I thought you might be hungry. And Paul seemed to enjoy breakfast, so I thought I'd make lunch."

Jessie hugged the woman tightly, despite the large basket in her hands. "Thank you so much. For everything." She pulled away. "And, I'm sorry for this morning . . ."

She patted Jessie on the arm. "Don't worry about that. Walter's just been under a lot of stress lately." She held Jessie at arm's length. "And, I imagine that discussion was about five years too late." She pulled her into another hug.

When she pulled away, Jessie was surprised to see tears in her eyes. "I'm sorry for the way things turned out. But, you have such a wonderful life. If you . . . if things had turned out differently, then you wouldn't have done all you have."

I'd have given it all up. Jessie blinked back her own tears, surprising herself with that thought. "Thanks, Mrs. O'Reilly."

Mrs. O'Reilly patted her on the cheek. "Now go. Paul's waiting."

Jessie lugged the picnic basket out the door. The day had turned into a beautiful one. The temperature was warmer than it had been over the past couple of days. Jessie stood on the front porch and took in the view of the snow-covered fields. Except for the burned-out hull of the barn, the view was breath-taking.

"Lunch! Bet it can't beat breakfast!" Paul said, taking the picnic basket from Jessie, stowing it away in the backseat of his car. Timothy, all business, was waiting at the car door for Jessie to climb into the backseat.

She looked again towards the barn and saw a lone figure poking through the rubble and thought about going out there to tell him good-bye. However, she remembered what he said to her before Paul had arrived: I hope he makes you happy. You deserve it. In a way, Jessie knew she had already been dismissed.

A tug on her pants leg drug her back into reality. "I can really come visit you? Whenever I want?"

Jessie kneeled down and wrapped her arms around the little girl. She hugged Jessie back fiercely. "Yes, whenever you want." She heard the child sniff and pulled her at arm's length.

"Now, don't cry," she said, wiping away Lizzie's tears, at a loss for how to comfort her. Gallantly, Lizzie sniffed and scrubbed her nose with the sleeve of her coat. She threw her arms around Jessie's neck.

"I love you, Jessie," she said sincerely. "And Mr. Timothy, too." Jessie's heart ached at those words.

"I love you, too, sweetheart," Jessie replied softly, stroking the girl's hair. Lizzie pulled away and went to stand by her grandmother, grabbing her hand and holding it tightly.

Jessie walked to the back of the car, and Timothy opened it for her. She turned around to wave at Lizzie.

"Miss Jessie," Timothy whispered in her ear. Jessie turned towards where he was motioning. Radar was standing alone next to the still-smoking ashes of the barn. He put his hand up in the air and waved. Jessie did the same. Their eyes met, and for a brief second, Jessie fought the urge to push Paul aside and rush out there to him, telling him how much she'd always loved him.

But, only for a second. She wrenched her gaze away and allowed Timothy to sit her in the car. He shut the door and climbed into the driver's seat. Paul was in the passenger's seat, incessantly poking through the picnic basket. He pinched off a piece of fried chicken.

"Oh, that's heavenly," he said as the car started to roll. Jessie turned and waved at Lizzie, refusing to look towards what was left at the barn. She waved until she could no longer see the little girl. With a sigh, she settled into the warm backseat.

"Timothy, let's go to town. I have some business to take care of."

"Business?"

"Yeah, what business?" Paul said, finally setting the picnic basket next to Jessie in the backseat.

"It's personal. Just drive."

*****************************************

There was nothing he could have done to stop her. More than once, he thought about begging her not to go. After the kiss and the talk on the front porch, he had almost worked up the nerve to ask her to stay. They could work it out.

I loved you. Loved. Past tense. Not now, but before.

But, then Paul showed up, and she looked happy to see him, Radar didn't have the gumption to tell her anything. She didn't belong in his world. She never did. Who was he kidding? She had already been gone two days, and he felt like he did all over again when he left her in Korea. Except this time, he never expected to see her again.

He stopped at the hardware store and rubbed his eyes wearily. The insurance adjuster agreed to pay to rebuild the barn, but all its contents were not insured. They had to drop that coverage years ago.

His mother, chattering away in the passenger seat, said something about going to the grocery store to pick up a few things. Great, another tab that needs to be paid. He waved his mother off and entered the hardware store.

"Well, hello there, Walter," Mr. Crayton said merrily from behind the counter. "How's everything goin' at the farm these days?"

"Alright, I guess," Radar said wearily. "You heard about our barn?"

Mr. Crayton shook his head sadly. "Sure did. Was it electrical?"

Radar winced, remembering the wiring he was supposed to have fixed, but didn't. He took a deep breath. "I know we have a huge bill to pay here, but I was wondering if you would mind selling me the lumber and stuff to rebuild the barn. The insurance company said they'd send us a check in a couple of weeks. I know it won't pay the whole thing, but . . ."

Mr. Crayton held up his hand, and Radar stopped. "Son, you can have whatever it is you need."

Radar's face lit up. "Oh, thank you! You know that I'll pay you back." Even if I have to go see that creep at the bank and sell him my soul.

Mr. Crayton shook his head. "You don't understand. Your tab here has been paid. And then some." He thumbed through some papers.

Radar was stunned. He put his hands on the counter and leaned in closer. "Wh-What are you talking about? Did the insurance adjuster . . ."

Looking smug, Mr. Crayton shook his head. "Nope. Twas a cute little redhead that came in here yesterday. No, day before yesterday, it was."

Radar's breath caught in his throat. "A redhead?" he managed to squeak.

Mr. Crayton rooted through the piles of papers on the counter. "Sure was. She marched in here as pretty as you please and announced that she would like to pay off your tab and add on some more for you to buy supplies." He finally found what he was looking for and thrust the sheet of paper in Radar's face. He took it dumbly. It was marked "paid in full." Just as Mr. Crayton said, there was a $7,000 credit to his name.

Holy cow!

"Well, I'll be darned," Radar mumbled, handing the paper back to Mr. Crayton.

"You know her? She looked mighty familiar myself, but I couldn't place her."

"Umm, yeah. We knew each other. From Korea. She was a nurse at the hospital I was stationed. She's a singer now. Acts some, too."

Mr. Crayton shrugged. "Well, she's a cute little thing. If I was a few years younger, I might have made a pass at her. But, she needed a little more meat on her bones for my taste!" He laughed at his own joke.

Radar didn't laugh with him.

Mr. Crayton snapped his fingers. "Oh, I almost forgot." He once again dove into the pile of papers as Radar watched, a little apprehensively.

Triumphant, Mr. Crayton presented him with an envelope, "Walter" written on the outside. Even after all these years, her familiar handwriting made him swallow.

"I'll have the materials delivered this afternoon. Harvey's out across town, but I'll get him over there as soon as possible."

Radar just nodded dumbly and walked out the door, staring at the letter in his hands like it was a snake.

He climbed into the truck and slammed the door, numbed not from the cold, but from what Mr. Crayton had told him.

Seven thousand dollars! She had the last word after all!

Radar turned the letter over and unsealed it slowly. One sheet of notebook paper fell out. Greedily, he opened it and began to read.

Walter,

I know, I know. You said you didn't want my help, but for once, just take it. Don't think of it as charity. Think of it as payback for the time, money and effort spent keeping Timothy and me at your house for three days. Trust me, I've paid more than that for hotel rooms that were a whole lot less appealing!

I thought about telling you good-bye when I left. But, I supposed you and I have already said our good-byes in one way or another. Saying it again just seemed too hard.

And, I lied to you when I told you I loved Paul. I don't. But you probably knew that anyway. Please don't be mad about the money. You and your family are worth it.

-J

Radar sat in the cold truck in front of the hardware store, holding the letter in his hands, re-reading it. Every time he got to the part about her not loving Paul, he wanted to cheer. But, what good would it do now?

His mother startled him by climbing into the truck, arms full of groceries. He quickly folded the letter and tucked it into his pocket, helping her with some of the bags.

"You're not going to believe this, but someone has paid our tab at the grocery store! I made Mavis check it and re-check it, but she said it was paid in full two days ago. Do you think . . ."

By the look on her son's face, Mrs. O'Reilly knew her guess was right.

"Well, I'll be darned," she said softly.

************************************

Jessie received a nice thank-you note from Mrs. O'Reilly about one week after she returned home. She laid the letter on her desk and thought about how much she would have enjoyed paying the loan off at the bank, too. But, she didn't dare confront that horrid man who ran the place. She might have slugged him and landed in the Ottumwa City Jail.

She never heard a word from Radar. But, that was just as well.

The plans for her wedding were coming right along. Between her concerts and appearances, she tried to stay busy enough to keep from thinking about her little detour into Iowa. Paul noticed her aloofness, but chalked it up to wedding jitters.

One night, Jessie found herself tossing and turning. Am I making the right decision? Should I have thrown myself at him instead of leaving peacefully? She longed for someone to talk to, but instead, she found herself sitting cross-legged in her office in the dark, going through the stupid scrapbook. For so many years, she had avoided those memories like the plague, pushing them to the furthest recesses of her mind. However, ever since she had seen him again, all those came tumbling out. Instead of fighting it, she embraced them.

Maybe that's what I have to do to finally get over him.

She idly turned the page, and one picture made her stop.

"Are you scared? You don't look scared."

"Terrified," Radar whispered back. They were sitting on the floor in the post-op ward. Around them, people were in various stages of sleep, either on the floor or propped up against the wall. The beds were saved for the wounded.

This wasn't Jessie's first dealings with a sniper. She had to admit, she much preferred the bombs. They were all huddled for shelter in the post-op ward, sandbags surrounding the walls as high as they dared. The knowledge that one sneaky North Korean was out there waiting to knock them all off like ducks at the fair gave her the creeps. She shivered and rubbed her arms.

"Are you cold?" Radar said, concerned. He took off his jacket and offered it to her. Gratefully, she took it and wrapped herself in it. Her own coat was in her tent, which was across camp, obviously inaccessible, and the night had gotten chilly. He wrapped his arm around her, and she snuggled against his side. They sat in silence for a moment.

"Radar? Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure," he replied, breathing in the scent of her hair. "You can ask me anything."

"Do you ever think about dying? I mean, here, a long way from home?"

"Well, yeah. It's kinda hard to avoid thinking about it, you know, especially at times like this."

"Sometimes, I wake up terrified. I know I'm going to die one day. We all are. But, I just don't want to it be here." She looked across the room at some of the bandaged and broken soldiers on the cots. "I imagine nobody wants to."

Radar held her closer. "Well, I won't let anyone hurt you. I promise," he said confidently.

Jessie doubted he could stop a bullet or bomb, but was still touched. She leaned her cheek against his shoulder. Despite the teasing from the nurses and doctors, Jessie wondered how far they were going to carry their relationship.

"Radar! Where are you?" Col. Potter hissed from across the room. "I need you to make another phone call to Seoul and get someone to get this sniper off our backsides!"

"Here, sir," Radar replied regretfully. He let go of Jessie. "Get some sleep. I'll be back in a little while." He was surprised when Jessie kissed him softly, about as surprised as Jessie was herself. Blushing, he carefully stepped over sleeping personnel and joined Col. Potter.

When he snuck back an hour later, she was curled up in his jacket on the floor, sound asleep. Stepping over and around other sleeping forms, he finally made it to her. Carefully, he lay down behind her, holding her close. She sighed contently in her sleep. Despite the situation, he fell into a blissful sleep.

Jessie didn't even know someone had snapped their picture as they slept until she first looked through the scrapbook. It had to be Hawkeye. She quietly closed the book and painfully rose from the floor, stretching her achy muscles. She sat down at her desk and turned on the lamp. Unfinished wedding plans stared her in the face, and she debated just sweeping all of it in the trash. Instead, she stared at the phone. Should I call him? She picked up the phone and started to dial.

What am I thinking? Wouldn't he have asked me to stay if he wanted me to?

Paul had insisted on sending a wedding invitation to them, and Jessie reluctantly agreed. She couldn't very well say, "No, I can't because I still love him." Instead, she addressed the envelope and off it went. They did receive a beautiful quilt, handmade by Mrs. O'Reilly, with regrets that they could not attend. However, most everyone else she invited from her days in Korea had said they wouldn't miss it for anything.

She knew Radar's absence would be duly noted.

Resolutely, Jessie rose from the desk, switching off the light. She crept back down the hall and into her bed.

Once again, she dreamed of a little white farmhouse surrounded by cornfields swaying in the breeze.

***********************************

The wedding day came much too fast. The day began stormy, much like Jessie was feeling. Rain was forecast all day. Her whole family was staying with her, even her father, who arrived yesterday. When he came down for breakfast, he kissed his daughter on the cheek.

"You look tired, my dear," he said kindly.

Jessie was a little shocked. Her father never much noticed those sorts of things. "Err, wedding plans and all. You know, girl stuff."

He hugged her warmly. "Ah, but he's a good man. You did well when you snared that one. Now, where can I get some coffee around here?"

Jessie dutifully rang for some coffee. When she turned around, Mattie was trundling down the stairs with Andrea's brood in tow. Jessie cringed when they began racing around the house wildly.

"I can't believe my baby's gettin' married!"

Jessie smiled wearily.

Mattie sniffed theatrically and studied Jessie closely, looking at her with one eye. "You sure don't look like no blushing bride to me. More like you're going to a funeral."

"Oh, Mattie, don't be ridiculous," Jessie said, trying not to meet Mattie's stare. "It's just nerves, that's all."

Mattie lovingly put both hands on Jessie's cheeks, making Jessie look at her. "Child, when your sister got married, she was so excited, I had to give the girl some of my special medicine to get her to sleep the night before. She was practically bouncing off the walls. Are you sure this is what you want?"

Jessie felt tears coming into her eyes at Mattie's unflinching gaze. "Oh, Mattie, I don't really know what I want anymore." She sniffed and squared her shoulders, determined not to cry. "I'm being such a ninny! You know I care for Paul. He'll be a wonderful husband."

Mattie wasn't convinced. "You just better be sure this is what you want."

Jessie nodded. "It is."

Liar.

The entire wedding party descended upon the church a few hours before it was to start. Jessie chose a local Catholic one because the cathedral ceilings appealed to her. Plus, it held a lot of people.

All their guests started to arrive about an hour before the wedding. Although Jessie could have cared less, Paul did not want to see her before it started, being superstitious. So, pictures were to be made afterwards. Jessie was left with her giggling bridesmaids, most of them girls she had known most of her life. They oohed and aahed over her dress. She refused to wear a veil, something that scandalized her well-bred sister. "All ladies of good breeding wear veils. That's just how it's done," she told Jessie. Jessie just rolled her eyes.

A few minutes before the wedding was to begin, Mattie shooed the bridesmaids into the foyer for the wedding march. With one last kiss, she left Jessie alone in the dressing room. She was glad to be alone. Gathering up her skirts, she sat at a mirror set up for her use, gazing at her reflection.

She sure looked like a bride, even if she didn't feel like one. The off-the-shoulder gown revealed her shoulders, lightly freckled. The satin was simple and fit tight at the waist. Jessie also refused to have a long train, something else that scandalized her sister. She chose to wear her unruly hair up in an almost severe up-do. The hairdresser had clucked despairingly, wanting to leave it flowing down in little ringlets, saying it would make her look like such a beautiful bride. She was unwavering. She didn't want to look like a beautiful bride. She sure didn't feel like a beautiful bride.

Jessie adjusted her gown on her shoulders, stopping to touch the spot where her necklace had been for almost six years. Soon after her side trip to Iowa, she had put it away. What good would it do to dwell on the past? She needed to learn to live in the present. Paul was a good man. He would treat her kindly and love her until the day he died. What more could a woman ask for?

And why was she trying to convince herself of this on her wedding day?

"Jessamyn. It's time," her father said, poking his head into the room. With one last shaky breath, she rose to meet him.

The church was packed. When the first strains of the wedding march began and the doors opened, Jessie painted what she hoped was a convincing smile on her face. All heads turned towards her and her father as they walked slowly down the aisle. She couldn't help but glance around.

Jessie saw Hawkeye with a very pregnant Margaret. He winked at her, and she gave them a little wave. Alex and Charles were next to him, Charles proudly holding his two-month old son. Col and Mrs. Potter were also in attendance, and Jessie smiled broadly at the kind old man that had become almost a grandfather to her. B.J. and Peg were there with Erin, and Trapper had attended, giving Jessie a jaunty salute. Even Klinger and his wife and Father Mulcahy were there.

Jessie knew Radar's absence was glaring to the small bunch.

Halfway down the aisle, Jessie finally looked at Paul. He was watching her walk towards him, proud. She cringed. She wondered if she should scare up some tears to look realistic.

But, why should I pretend?

Her father presented her to Paul, and the ceremony began. She dutifully stood facing her husband-to-be amongst the flowers and candles, just as they rehearsed. The preacher droned on about love and duty and honor. Jessie heard none of it. She kept looking at Paul and wondering what was wrong with her. Is it really fair to him to promise to cherish and honor him when it all was a lie? Could I really learn to love him over time? Or would I be just as miserable as I had been since seeing Radar again? Damn it, all this started with my stupid quest to get away from my father's control! And where did it get me? At my own wedding, marrying someone I don't love when someone I do love is all the way in Iowa on a farm in a house that I was supposed to be in, dealing with problems that they were supposed to be dealing with together.

With all the questions swirling in her brain, Jessie apparently missed her cue. She was brought back to reality when Paul squeezed her hand.

"Honey, are you OK?" he whispered.

She shook her head to clear her mind and stared back at him.

"I . . .I can't do this."

He looked shocked. "What are you saying?" He cut his eyes to the guests. "All these people are here. It'll soon be over with. We can talk about it later."

Jessie pried her hands out of his grasp. "No, we won't talk about it later. I can't do this. I don't love you. Not like you love me, at least."

The audience gasped.

Jessie kissed him on the cheek. "You're a good man, and you deserve a woman who's as wild about you as you are about her." She pulled off her engagement ring and placed it in his hand. Then, she turned and faced the stunned audience.

"I'm sorry, but this wedding is off." Jessie saw her sister gasp in horror. Mattie sat beside her shocked father, smiling knowingly. Johnny was trying not to laugh aloud. It looked like Andrea was going to swoon. "Please, continue to the reception. There's plenty of food and drink, and the band is supposed to be pretty good. That's the least I could do for some of you coming this far."

Jessie picked up her skirts, leaving a sputtering Paul and wedding party behind.

Her father tried to stop her. "Jessamyn, where are you going?" he whispered hoarsely as she sped past.

She shook her uncomfortable shoes off and ran barefoot down the aisle. "Iowa," she called determinedly over her shoulder. Cheering erupted from one side. She slowed when she realized it was a little group near the back of the church. Her friends from Korea. She threw them a determined smile as she continued to the door.

What was I thinking when I picked this church with the long aisle?

"Iowa?" her father said, confused.

Mattie coaxed him to sit down. "I'll explain, Mr. Callahan. You see, there was this young man in Korea . . ."

Timothy, putting his hat on his head, followed Jessie out the door.

OK, I know I'm doing the right thing not marrying Paul. But what about this going to Iowa part?

The sky was stormy when she ran down the steps of the church. She held up her skirts as she waved down a taxi. Instead, a long, sleek limo pulled up. Timothy climbed out of the driver's seat and opened a door for Jessie.

"You didn't think I would let you take a taxi to the airport, now would you? You'd ruin your dress. Plus, you have your luggage for your honeymoon in this car." He winked at her. "Thought you might still need it."

Jessie was touched. She threw her arms around him.

He hugged her awkwardly in return. "Now, now, Miss Jessie. You don't want Mr. Paul to come out here and make a scene."

Jessie pulled away and climbed into the car. "You're right. Let's get going." Timothy tucked her skirts into the limo. Rain started to fall as he pulled into traffic.

Neither one noticed the taxi pull up to the curb as they pulled away.

**************************************

The church was abuzz. People were talking in excited voices, and only a few had made there way to the reception hall. Everyone else was too busy gossiping.

"Hey, Charles! You owe me $50," Hawkeye said, slapping Col. Potter on the back. Reluctantly, Charles pulled out his wallet and handed a crisp bill to Hawkeye.

"What was that for?" Margaret asked.

Hawkeye regally placed the money in his coat pocket. "I bet ol' Chuckles here that Jessie would call off this wedding so fast that it would leave our heads spinning!" He winked at Margaret. "I admit, she had me scared there for a minute."

Trapper joined the group. "I can't believe it! I really thought she was going to go through with it!"

"You do have to feel a little sorry for the groom, though," Col. Potter said, joining the group with Mildred on his arm.

They all glanced up at the front of the church. Paul was sitting in shock on the steps to the pulpit. However, one of the bridesmaids was hanging onto his arm, consoling him by pressing his face into her bosom and stroking his hair.

"Looks like he won't be unhappy for long!" Klinger commented. He leaned in closer to the group. "So, do you think she's really going to Iowa? From what I heard, he didn't show the slightest bit of interest in taking her back when she was stranded there."

Alex cleared her throat. "Yes, he did." All eyes turned to her, and she blushed.

Hawkeye narrowed his eyes at her playfully. "You knew all along she was going to skip out on this wedding, didn't you?"

Alex smiled. "At least, she didn't tell me she would. I thought she might, though." She told them what had happened the night the barn burned.

"Well, I'll be damned," Col. Potter said. He laughed aloud. "I tell you what this was one helluva wedding!"

"What's going on?"

Dumbstruck, they all stared at the new arrival.

"Radar! You're supposed to be at home!" Father Mulcahy finally sputtered.

Radar looked around at the little groups of people huddled about, talking. The wedding party had vanished. "D-did I miss it?"

"Well, sort of," B.J. said.

Radar's face fell.

"What in the world are you doing here, anyway?" Hawkeye said, studying Radar closely. He shook his finger at him. "You were going to bust in here and call a halt to this whole shebang, weren't you?"

"Well, not exactly. I was going to try to talk to her before the wedding." He looked forlornly around the church. "But, I guessed I missed it." He sat down heavily in the church pew. "Stupid plane. The storm made me late, then I couldn't . . ."

Hawkeye laughed so hard, tears fell down his face.

Margaret punched him on the arm. "It's not funny!"

Radar looked confused. "What's not funny?"

"Jessie's not married! She ran out of here not five minutes ago!" He pointed down the aisle. "See, she even threw off her shoes, she was in such a hurry."

"I-I don't understand. Where's she going?"

Hawkeye, still guffawing, managed to catch his breath. "Iowa! She was going to Iowa!"

Radar jumped up. "You mean, to see me?"

"Well, she wasn't going there for the sight-seeing, that's for sure," Trapper said dryly.

"Holy cow!" Radar replied, dazed.

Hawkeye grabbed him and shoved him back down the aisle. "C'mon, loverboy. Let's get a cab and see if we can catch her before she jumps on the next plane to Cornville!"

He grabbed the priest by the arm. "Hey, we might need you before this is over."

He turned to face the others. "Well, are all of you coming or not?"

Rain was falling as they all ran outside. Radar already had one cab waiting, and several of them piled into it. It took three cabs to hold them all.

"To the airport. And step on it!" Hawkeye told the cab driver.

"Yessir!" the driver said and sped into traffic.

****************************

The driver flew into the airport drop-off area and barely missed an old lady with a luggage cart.

"Charles, pay this nice man," Hawkeye demanded.

Charles dutifully paid all three cab drivers without complaining. For once.

Radar stopped before he ran into the terminal. "Hey, there's Timothy!" He waved at Jessie's driver as he stood by the limo, sheltered from the rain by the overhang.

Timothy's mouth dropped. "Mr. Walter, what . . .why?"

"Our sentiments exactly," Trapper said, winded from the sprint. "Where's Jess?"

"Inside. The next plane to Des Moines is leaving any minute."

Radar shook Timothy's hand vigorously, then took off towards the terminal, the entire group close behind.

"She's still wearing her wedding dress, so she's not hard to miss!" Timothy called towards their retreating figures. Deciding he didn't want to miss the excitement, he followed.

The Richmond airport was busy this time of day, and they had to fight their way through the crowd. The women opted to stay behind and wait, while everyone else fought their way forward.

When they finally caught up with Radar, he was sitting dejectedly in a chair. "There's the plane." He pointed out the window, and through the rain, they saw the jet taxi down the runway. "We're too late."

Hawkeye clapped him on the back. "Well, we'll just get you on the next flight out of here. Or, better yet, Timothy can drive you. You'll catch up to her eventually."

"Maybe sooner than later," B.J. said, pointing.

They all looked up. Jessie, hard to miss in her expensive wedding gown, was arguing with an airline agent at the counter.

Radar stood slowly. He had often wondered what she would have looked like in a wedding dress, preferably by his side, and thought he would never get to see it. "She's beautiful!"

"And she's yours! Now, go over there right now!" Hawkeye said, shoving him forward.

Radar brushed at his rumpled suit then slowly made his way over to the desk.

"I'm not missing this for nothing," Klinger announced and followed, the others close behind.

Jessie, luggage scattered about, was not happy. She had worked all the bobby pins out of her hair, and it was now hanging down her back, damp on the ends from the rain. She was in a heated discussion with the harried airline agent. Radar had to chuckle as he got closer.

"What to you mean there's not even an indirect flight to Des Moines?"

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but with the storm, many flights have been delayed or canceled. I can book you on a direct flight tomorrow at 9 a.m.," she asked hopefully.

"I don't want a flight tomorrow at 9 a.m.! I want something that leaves now for anywhere but here! And I want it to somehow connect eventually to Des Moines!"

The agent desperately scanned her lists. "I'm sorry, but . . ."

"Jessie?"

Jessie waved her hand towards the voice impatiently, intently arguing with the airline clerk.

"Just a minute, Radar. Now, miss, can you please check again . . ." She trailed off, for which the airline clerk was grateful. Slowly, she turned.

"Wh-what are you doing here?" She sat down her luggage on the floor.

He smiled at her, his blue eyes glowing. "Well, I was here for your wedding. But, I missed you at the church. You had already left." He motioned behind him. "They told me what happened and where you were going." He reached out and touched her on the arm, almost to convince himself she was real, that this whole situation wasn't dreamed.

"You were here? For my wedding?" Jessie said, not quite grasping what was going on. "I thought you weren't coming. Your mom sent back the RSVP card . . ."

"I didn't mean I was here for your wedding. I guess – well, I guess I was here to stop your wedding. I just didn't know you would stop it yourself."

Jessie shook her head. "I-I couldn't marry him. It wouldn't have been fair," she managed to say.

He reached up and wiped a tear from her face with his finger.

Jessie grabbed his hand and held it tightly. "I was going to you and tell you that I love you. I-I should have told you when I saw you last, but I didn't think you still cared about me. I thought you might, but I wasn't sure. But, I-I had to try."

The airline agent held out a box of tissues, and Jessie gratefully took one.

"I was an idiot," Radar said softly. "I wanted to tell you how I felt, but you acted like you really wanted to marry Paul. So, I let you go. But, I've been absolutely miserable."
"Me, too," Jessie interjected.

"This morning, my mother told me if I didn't get on a plane to Virginia, she was going to disown me. And I believed her, too!"

She chuckled.

He reached in his pocket. "After I made my decision when Mr. Braswell threatened me, I tried to ignore the fact that I love you. But, I told myself that you didn't belong in my world all along. I was wrong about that, too."

Jessie gasped as he got down on one knee in the terminal and pulled the ring out of his pocket. "I bought this for you a long time ago. If I were smart, I'd have given it to you then. But, I didn't." He took a deep breath. "Jessie, will you marry me?"

Without thinking, she arranged her numerous skirts to sit down on the floor in front of him. "Yes! Yes, I'll marry you!" He managed to slip the ring on her finger before she put her arms around his neck and kissed him.

The crowd around them erupted into whistles, stomps and cheers. Radar and Jessie held onto each other and laughed. He stood and helped her to her feet.

"Now, we have a bride and groom," Hawkeye said. He pulled Father Mulcahy forward. "We also have a priest." He gestured around the room. "We have witnesses. I think that's enough to have a wedding!"

"You mean-get married now?" Radar said, incredulous. He looked at Jessie. "But, don't we have to have a license or something? And rings! We don't have wedding rings!"

"Oh, details, details," Hawkeye said, flapping his hand around. "Worry about that on Monday."

Jessie laughed merrily. "Oh, why not?" She gestured towards her gown. "Hey, at least I'm dressed for it!"

So, in an airport terminal in Richmond surrounded by friends and strangers, Jessie and Radar were married.

The airline assistant even caught the bouquet.

****************************************

The sunset was glorious in Missouri in the autumn. However, the group crowded around the table in the kitchen was oblivious to it.

"Two cards," B.J. said, chewing on a cigar.

Hawkeye dealt. He groaned when he looked at them. "I'm out," he said, throwing his cards down in disgust.

"Can I take six cards?" Col. Potter said, hopefully.

"Nope," Hawkeye said. "Don't you think if that rule were around, then I'd have used it already?"

Col. Potter made a face. "Three."

"What about you, Jess?" Hawkeye said.

Jessie waved him off. "I'm thinking." Finally, she laid down one card.

"Just one? You've got to be kidding?" Hawkeye said.

"Just one for me, also," Charles said. Hawkeye gave Charles an evil eye and produced one card for him. He stifled a grin when he saw it.

"OK, folks, read 'em and weep!" he announced after the final round of betting, laying out a royal flush.

"Damn," Jessie muttered, throwing her cards on the table. "Why did I ever teach you to play poker, anyway?"

Charles gleefully gathered the money in the middle of the table.

Col. Potter rose and patted his stomach. "I'll go see if I can scare us up some sandwiches."

It was Jessie's turn to deal, and she shuffled the cards, humming to herself as she dealt to the remaining players.

Suddenly, the backdoor flew open, and Radar ran inside, laughing, three children dangling from his arms, one of them Lizzie. The rest galloped behind him through the house.

"OK, OK!" B.J. said, motioning to his two children. "Enough! I bet dinner's ready."

With grumbling and complaining, all the children shuffled into the dining room.

Radar, exhausted, plopped down in a chair behind Jessie. He studied her cards over her shoulder.

"So, Jess," Charles said, as the play resumed. "Alex tells me you had a run-in with this banker fellow not too long ago."

Jessie and Radar both rolled their eyes. "Yeah," she said. "That decrepit old idiot. He never knew what hit him."

Hawkeye played with his chips in front of him. "Is this the same. . .?"

"One and the same," Jessie said. She threw her hand down disgustedly. "I'm out." She reached hungrily into the bowl of pretzels and took out a large handful.

"So, what happened?" B.J. said.

Jessie leaned back in the chair. "Well, I went over to the bank one day and marched myself into Braswell's office. I told him that I wanted to pay off the loan on the O'Reilly place." She laughed aloud at the memory of the look on his face.

"Than what?"

Jessie finished chewing her pretzels. "Well, after the normal pleasantries that go along with this sort of thing, he informed me that I could not pay off the loan because I was not one of the original loanees or something crazy like that." She slammed her empty glass down on the table. "He claimed there was some sort of stipulation in the document that said it could not be paid early! The liar!"

Radar touched her arm.

Jessie reached around and patted his hand absently and continued. "Well, I informed him that since I was the now Mrs. Walter Eugene O'Reilly, I could pay off that loan if I damned well pleased! I also informed him that if I did not leave here with the note on that farm that I would have my attorneys on him before he knew what hit him! Oh, and I added that I was pretty sure blackmail was illegal in all 48 states. And, I would make sure that everyone in Ottumwa would agree with me as soon as I told them what he did!" She fanned herself with a napkin, getting angry just thinking about it.

"Who won?" B.J. said.

Jessie smiled wickedly. "I was out of there so fast with that note in my hand that it about even made my head spin!"

Everyone around the table laughed.

Col. Potter entered the kitchen with some bottles and cans in his arms. "No food just yet, but beer's cold!"

Everyone took a bottle or can, except for Jessie.

"C'mon, Jess, I know you can guzzle with the best of us," B.J. said.

"And, if I remember correctly, you used to try to drink us under the table drinking whiskey, no less," Hawkeye added. He started the bidding on the new hand. "Ten dollars."

Jessie waved them off. "Nope, none for me thanks. At least, not for another seven months." She threw a chip into the pot. "Call."

Hawkeye laughed aloud, slapping his leg. "You mean, you're . . ." The table erupted into congratulations.

B.J. elbowed Radar in the ribs. "Radar, you sly devil, you!"

Radar blushed in return.

Col. Potter hugged Jessie, and Charles shook Radar's hand.

"Look, guys, I just found out this week," Jessie said, stuffing another handful of pretzels in her mouth. "We've been so busy with the farm and renovating the house and all. I honestly thought once I got out of the music business, things would be slower, but boy, was I wrong! Anyway, I kept getting sick, then I was hungry as a horse! Radar's mom couldn't keep enough food in the house!" She squeezed his hand affectionately, and he leaned over and kissed the top of her head.

"Well, it's about damn time," Col. Potter muttered.

Later that night, Jessie and Radar sat on Col. Potter's front porch in a creaky old swing. Jessie was leaning against Radar's side. He had his arm wrapped around her shoulder, his hand placed protectively on her stomach. Lizzie was asleep upstairs in the large Potter house with the other children, and everyone else had gone to bed, as well. The only sound was the crickets in the front yard.

"Jess?"

"Mmmm?"

"Have you thought about baby names yet?" he asked, playing idly with a strand of her hair.

Jessie shifted in the swing, getting more comfortable. "A little. Have you?"

"Some. I-I've really just thought about boy names."

Jessie raised up to face him. "What makes you think it'll be a boy?" she asked playfully.

He kissed the tip of her nose. "I just know these things."

Jessie snorted. "Well, what boy's names did you have in mind?"

"Just one. Henry."

Jessie picked up his hand that was on her stomach and kissed it. "After Henry Blake, right?"

"Yeah. I sometimes think that he would be proud of how I turned out. You know like my father would be."

Jessie cocked her head, thinking. "I like it. Henry it is."

Radar smiled in the darkness as Jessie settled against him.

The rhythm of the swing and Radar's even breathing began to rock Jessie to sleep. Before long, she was dreaming. This time, when she dreamed of a little white farmhouse surrounded by corn, she woke up smiling.

*****************************

It is done.