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Rated: T

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

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Chapter 4

It had been a month or two after her mother had finally died. Her best friend, Kimberly Fischer had come over and dragged her out of bed, ignoring the way she hadn't bathed in over a week as she drew her a bath and poured the last of her spicy smelling bath salts in the water.

"Don't argue with me Tess," Kim said as she dropped her in the tub, nightgown and all. "You're going out tonight whether you like it or not! You've been cooped up in this house too long. You have to start living once and for all, you've paid your dues. Do you think your mother would want you to spend the rest of your life like this?"

"I don't know. . ." Teresa replied, her answer getting cut off as Kim dumped a pitcher of water of her dark hair. She choked and sputtered, rubbing it out of her eyes and nose.

"The answer is no! Your mother would want you to go and live your life. This isn't healthy, Tess. You're by yourself most of the time, it's like when Anne was alive except worse because you're really alone. No, don't argue with me! I know you want to but any argument you'd make is invalid."

Teresa stopped protesting then and asked her to leave so she could bathe properly. An hour later, all perfumed and made up, she followed Kim to her car and got in without even asking her where they were going, she didn't have the energy too.

She didn't have the energy for anything.

They pulled up to a dance hall on the outskirts of town. Teresa turned weary eyes on Kim and sighed. "You know how my father feels about places like this," she said.

Kim shrugged. "What your father doesn't know won't hurt him. Come on, you've been playing the good little girl for long enough. Aren't you tired of not having fun?"

"I have fun!" Teresa answered defensively.

"Oh I'm sure you do. You've read about half the library by now, haven't you?"

"No!" Teresa paused and smiled in spite of herself. "I mean, I've hardly had time to read half the library."

"You've hardly had time to do anything at all," Kim reminded her. "Come on! Live a little, steal back your youth! You deserve it. Tonight, you aren't Teresa Lisbon, pastor's daughter. Patron saint of all Chicago. Tonight, you're just Teresa."

Just Teresa.

She liked the sound of that. So, without another thought to what could go wrong and what she shouldn't be doing, she took the brick red lipstick Kim was offering her and applied it with firm, even strokes.

It made her look brazen. It made her look like somebody she wasn't, her father would be appalled. . . disappointed. She capped the tube of lipstick and pretended she didn't care what he thought.

She stumbled out of the car, unsteady on the heels Kim had brought her with the new dress and followed her friend into the dance hall, expecting it to be all sex and sin like her father had told her when he warned her against going to those kinds of establishments. But it wasn't anything of the sort. The people looked like regular, everyday folk. People she would see in church or talk to when she was purchasing groceries.

Some of them were serving their country.

Teresa accepted a glass of punch that smelled like it was spiked with something stronger and downed it in one gulp, she felt herself loosening up almost immediately after she finished it. She told herself that maybe a second one was a bad idea but went against her better judgement and accepted a refill.

She was nursing the second glass when he approached her.

"A pretty girl like you should be dancing," he said. "So, why aren't you?"

"Maybe because I'm not pretty," Teresa answered boldly.

"Have you looked in the mirror lately? You're stunning!"

"Go easy on her," Kim interjected, linking their arms together. "She's not used to male attention!"

"That can't be true either!"

"I am not in the habit of lying, sir!" Teresa said defensively. "I am neither pretty or used to male attention. Now, please leave me alone."

"Only if you agree to dance with me," he replied.

"I don't dance!"

"Now that has to be a lie. Where I come from, it's unpatriotic to dance!"

Teresa raised an eyebrow. "Oh, really?"

"No. But I've never met a girl who's refused to dance with me before," he answered.

"You're used to getting your way then," Teresa asked.

"All my life."

"Well, this is one time you won't be getting your way!" Teresa told him.

"Is that right?"

"That's right!" Teresa confirmed, but as she took another sip of her punch and stared the man in front of her down, she didn't believe what she was saying. All her common sense, everything her father had ever taught her was disappearing because the soldier was looking at her like she was the most beautiful girl in the whole entire room.

Teresa wasn't used to being looked at like that.

She kind of liked it.

He sighed and smiled at her like he knew what she was going to do next. "Fine, if that's the case then, I'll just go and drown my sorrows in the punch bowl."

Teresa sighed. "Fine! Fine! I'll dance with you! I wouldn't want you to get drunk on my account. Kimberly, watch my purse and my drink for me, please."

He smirked as he took her hand and whirled her onto the dance floor as one of the other soldiers put on a record from 1943. It was an intimate song and he was holding her shockingly close.

"Please. . ." Teresa whispered, her old need for decency coming back swiftly as his hand found the small of her back. "You shouldn't be holding me like this. Not even when we don't know each other's names. . ."

"Walter Mashburn," he said. "And you are?"

"Teresa Lisbon," she answered automatically.

Walter smirked and pulled her closer. "There, we aren't strangers anymore."

Teresa closed her eyes as butterflies she had only ever associated with Clark Gable started to stir up in her stomach. "No," she agreed. "We're not strangers anymore."

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Teresa woke up with a start, she wasn't in the dance hall being swept off her feet anymore. She was back in a wrought-iron bed in California and it was time to get up and start her day. She sat up and pushed her hair away from her face.

She could hear Patrick shuffling around in the next room and she forced herself out of bed. out of her nightgown, into a skirt that was getting too tight and a blouse that wouldn't fit in a month. She blushed and hoped her husband wouldn't notice her changing body.

There was a knock on her door and she looked up startled.

"I'll be right there Patrick!" She called.

"I was just wondering if you wanted me to start breakfast!" He answered.

"Um. . ." she shuffled to the door and opened it as she buttoned up her last button. "It's fine, I'm dressed. I can come down and make breakfast for you."

"If you want to," Patrick replied, smiling at her. "Did you sleep well?"

Teresa blushed again as she thought about the dream she had just woken up from. "Yes," she answered. "How about you?"

"I slept just fine, thank you," Patrick said, stepping away from the threshold so she could leave the bedroom.

"Good. Come on and I'll make your breakfast. What do you have to do today?"

"Wayne and Kimball are coming over," Patrick told her. "We're trying to get the farm up and running like it used to be before my father died and the war started. I want our children to have something to inherit like I did. But I don't want them to inherit nothing."

"It isn't your responsibility," Teresa replied.

"It is though. It has been ever since I said I do," Patrick answered. "I know you don't believe it but I do."

Teresa took her apron off the peg near the stove and tied it around her waist, she desperately wanted to argue with him but everything her mother had taught her about being submissive came flooding back. Besides, she knew he was right. He had taken vows to look after her, he was responsible.

And when it came down to it, he was the one there while Walter wasn't, even though Walter really hadn't had a choice in the matter.

"Thank you," she said.

Patrick just smiled at her before going outside to let Jack out and to see if Daisy would finally give milk while Teresa started to prepare breakfast as she wondered what true farm life would look like and if he would expect her to keep getting pregnant so he'd have a houseful of able-bodied workers to help him out with it.

She still didn't want to think about sharing her body and bed with him. Not when she was still having dreams about the man she was still in love with. She was still pretty sure that there wouldn't be anybody who could compete with Walter Mashburn.

Not even somebody with Hollywood good looks and who was willing to take care of her child, no questions asked.

She just hoped Patrick would be able to understand how she felt. Even though a nagging voice in the back of her mind told her that if the shoe were on the other foot, she probably wouldn't be as understanding as she wanted him to be.

Teresa looked out the window and saw Patrick playing with Jack, instead of trying to milk Daisy. She had an image of him playing with her child and she looked away, starting to crack eggs to scramble into a bowl. She hoped she would be done entertaining thoughts about him and Walter and everything else for the rest of the day.

TBC. . .

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Author's Note:

I hate everything about this chapter but then again, I am hating everything right now. I am completely out of sorts and I don't know why. I'm sorry this chapter was so short, I was going to write the whole Walter/Teresa saga in one go but then I realized I wanted it to be a little bit spread out and to spare you an information overload. I hope you'll tell me what you think of this. One week until my sister's bacherlotte party.

Apologizes in advance if I don't have a chapter for you next week.

Love,

Holly, 4/10/2015_