Interlude 1

New York City, December 1937

Snowflakes danced and whirled in the winter wind outside Marion Ravenwood's window. Inside the apartment, her fiance' sat on the bed with his feet on the coverlet. A suitcase, propped on his lap, served as a makeshift writing surface. The only sound in the room was his pen, scratching over a sheet torn from a field notebook. Somehow, he couldn't bring himself to sit at her desk and use her paper to say what he had to say.

...and part of me-he finished at last-no doubt the best part, will always be yours. He paused, swallowed hard, and signed his name. Indy.

Indy stood up, folded his last farewell in half, then folded it again. He set the square of paper on Marion's pillow where she'd be sure to find it when she came home. As he picked up his suitcase and started for the door, a sweet voice echoed in his mind...You're going away, Indy...Damn.

Be a man, Jones, he scolded himself. Marion doesn't need you anymore, and she deserves better than you can give her. A clean break is best-she'll understand that in time. And probably be thankful for it. As for you-his head lifted-the Cross of Coronado is waiting- and it won't slip through your fingers this time. He braced his shoulders, reached for his suitcase, then drew back. But...if leaving's the best thing to do,why do I feel like there's a knife in my chest? What's gonna happen to that baby of mine without me? Indy paused in thought, then felt for the holster under his jacket. He'd left the Webley with Marion before-on nights when she worked late, and once or twice she'd kept it when he'd been out of the country. Maybe I can't stay with you-but this can.

He locked the safety and put the big gun on top of her pillow, over the note. Be safe, honey. Be safe and well. Dry those pretty eyes real soon and- well, just live happily ever after. Get a new man, get a new life, but keep this little bit of your Indy. Maybe someday you'll be able to smile and remember me. Because I know I'll never forget you.

Hell, if he was going, he'd better scram before she got back and his shaky resolve drowned in the undertow of those blue eyes. Indy wheeled and strode out of the bedroom, shutting the door behind him with unnecessary force. The Webley, shaken by the vibrations, slipped off the pillow and slid next to the wall.

Interlude 2

New York, 6 days later.

Tomas Majeski was no fool, and he hadn't been born yesterday. In the old country, he'd seen which way the wind from Germany was blowing, and he'd wasted no time in getting his family to safety in America. And if he made less as a super in New York than he had as a teacher in Prague, it as a small price to pay for knowing that he'd live to see his children grow up.

Today, Tomas climbed the stairs of the brownstone he managed to attend to some business with one of his favorite tenants. Pretty Miss Ravenwood was moving out and he was on his way to inspect her apartment. This was no surprise- Miss Ravenwood had given her notice last summer, after she'd shown him an impressive ring and told him she'd be marrying Dr. Jones.

Tomas had felt some private misgivings about that engagement. He'd never been quite sure that he liked Dr. Jones. Oh, the man was affable enough, but there was something about him that hinted at unexpected depths and secrets untold. And from the way Dr. Jones came and went, he was obviously sleeping with Miss Ravenwood. Now, Tomas was well aware that Miss Ravenwood was his tenant, not his daughter- her personal life was no bread and butter of his. But every woman was someone's daughter, he thought with a sigh. He knew what he'd have done to a bounder who treated Anna or Kristina that way. Besides, it was common knowledge that these 'arrangements' seldom ended well. At least not for the girl.

And in fact, something was clearly amiss in apartment 307. Miss Ravenwood was still moving out as planned, but the last time he'd seen Dr. Jones was nearly a week ago. The man, suitcase in hand, had hurried down the stairs and passed Tomas by without so much as a 'pardon me'. Then he'd climbed into a waiting cab and slammed the door. Dr. Jones hadn't been back since-and you didn't have to be Albert Einstein to figure that one out.

Two days later, another fellow appeared, a dapper tweed-clad Briton, who'd introduced himself courteously as as a friend of Miss Ravenwood's late father. Oxley was his name-Dr. Harold Oxley. Now him Tomas had liked on sight- the teacher in him respected the scholar in Oxley and besides, you could always tell a gentleman. Dr. Oxley, unlike Dr. Jones, always arrived and left at a decent hour. He seemed to be helping Miss Ravenwood get her affairs in order- there was clearly nothing romantic between them. Well, if the poor girl had really been jilted, it was completely proper for a family friend to step in.

Dr. Oxley also brought a friend in his wake, another Englishman who'd caused quite a stir around the Majeski family's dinner table. This man's name was Williams-Pilot Officer Colin Williams. Mr. Williams was friendly and kind-he 'd sat on the stoop with ten- year-old Stefan and talked to him at length about aeroplanes. This was enough for Stefan to decide he was a 'swell guy' , ranked second only to his hero, Charles Lindbergh. Mr. Williams was also taller, younger, and rather handsomer than Dr Oxley. Sixteen-year-old Kristina pronounced him 'dreamy' and tried to flirt with him. Twenty-year-old Anna, with a reserve becoming to a betrothed young woman, just said that he 'seemed nice.' His Martya had accepted her son's hero worship, looked approvingly at her older daughter, and told the younger, firmly, not to embarrass herself by making eyes at Mr. Williams.

"Besides the fact that he's too old for you, he's in love with Miss Ravenwood. Anyone could see it."

Tomas' fork stopped halfway to his mouth. "What? but he.."

Martya smiled lovingly at husband's male obliviousness. "Of course he is. Just look at his eyes-the way they follow her. I'm sure he thinks it's too soon for him to speak-which it is, if Dr. Jones really walked out like we think he did. But darling, no man goes to this kind of trouble for a woman who's not family unless he has an interest."

When Tomas opened the door to 307, he found a flurry of activity. Mr. Williams, in his shirtsleeves, was carrying boxes to a pile in the hall labeled 'Salvation Army'. Dr Oxley was crouched down by the baseboard, holding an electric torch so the man from the telephone company could see to disconnect the wires. Miss Ravenwood, dressed in gray Hepburn trousers and a simple red sweater, was perched on a crate in the living room, directing traffic.

"No, fellas," she was saying to two sturdy-looking men in work clothes, "the trunk doesn't go with the furniture. Furniture goes to Adams Brothers Storage in Fairfield. I don't remember the whole address, it should be on your bill of lading. The trunk's a direct drop to Barnett College for a Dr. Henry Jones. That's in Fairfied too; address is on the label. And it's marked fragile for a reason, all right?"

"What's in it?" one of the movers said curiously.

Mr. Williams moved to put the kibosh on that line of inquiry.

"Nothing of any value, mate, except to scholars. It's artifacts and such for the museum."

The big man grinned as he measured the top of the trunk. "You know, I used to collect arrowheads when I was a kid in Oklahoma. Beats me why eggheads make such a fuss over those little bits of junk, though."

Miss Ravenwood's eyes sparked with private amusement at this, and she gave a short laugh. "You and me both, brother," she said, shaking her head. "You and me both."

The movers were starting to load out when a third man poked his head around the bedroom door.

"What about the bedroom suite, ma'am?" he asked.

"That's staying here, actually." She turned to Tomas, blushing faintly. "I offered it to Paul and Anna for their new home. I hope that was all right-I know it's hard for a young couple starting out these days."

Tomas looked in the bedroom door and his eyes widened. "That's a very generous gift, Miss Ravenwood," he said, touched. The suite of matching Art Deco furniture was both handsome and of fine quality -far beyond the means of a young tailor and his new bride. The bed may have been used for immoral purposes but the kids could always buy a new mattress.

"Well," Miss Ravenwood sighed, "Someone may as well get something good out of all this, Mr. Majeski."

"Speaking of which-" she called the movers over and reached into her purse with a dazzling smile. "Here's a little extra for your trouble, boys. Have a drink on me when you finish up here."

It was, Tomas noticed, a rather generous tip. "Thank YOU, Miss," the movers chorused, and set to work.

Tomas, with Mr. Williams and Dr Oxley in his wake, walked through the the bedroom door. They cast measuring looks at the contents. "The lamps are no trouble, and the dresser and nightstand are fine, but you'll never get that bed out in one piece, mate," said Mr. Williams. "Though if you've got a screwdriver your future son in law and I should be able to shift it all right."

Paul was summoned from downstairs and he, Dr. Oxley, and Mr. Williams set to work moving the bedroom suite to the lumber room. It would wait there, covered in sheets, for the newlyweds' first apartment.

Meanwhile, Tomas took out his checklist, walked through the nearly empty flat and found everything in order. "Where would you like the cheque for your damage deposit sent, Miss Ravenwood?"

"Don't want a cheque mailed, thanks," she answered. "If you have any cash I'll take something toward the balance, otherwise-" Miss Ravenwood paused, and smiled a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes-"why don't you keep the deposit and get the kids something for Christmas?"

Tomas hesitated. This wasn't strictly 'according to Hoyle', but he hadn't asked-she had offered. He thought of the Lionel train Stefan hoped for, some pretty earrings for Kristina, and perhaps some dishes for Anna and Paul...

"C'mon," coaxed Miss Miss Ravenwood, grinning now, "Where's your sense of adventure? The landlord doesn't have to know."

Tomas smiled back. "Well, if you insist. I've got some cash in the safe-enough togive you about half of the money tonight. It's been a pleasure having you here," he added. "Please let me know if there's anything I can do for you."

She looked thoughtful. "It's been a pleasure knowing you and your family as well, Mr. Majeski. And there is one thing that would help me a lot..."

The super beamed. "Name it."

"I doubt this ever will happen, but if anyone comes looking for me-anybody at all-" Miss Ravenwood paused, then continued, firmly, "Tell whoever it is that I cleaned the place up, paid my rent in full, and didn't leave a forwarding address, all right?"

Tomas' eyes flicked over the loose fitting sweater. Miss Ravenwood's tired face was softer and fuller-so like his Martya's when she'd been carrying their first child.

He took her hand, now bare of any ring, and bowed over it gallantly. "You have my word on it," he said. "I'll go downstairs and get your cash."

As the super's footsteps faded, Marion sat down on her suitcase, and put her head in her hands. The secret she carried made her tire more quickly, these days, and she realized that it had been a little too long since she'd had anything to eat. She reached for her purse again, and unwrapped the 5th Avenue candy bar she kept there for emergencies.

She ate it slowly, savoring each bite of chocolate and peanuts. She'd missed American sweets in Nepal, and Indy kidded her mercilessly about her stash of candy. When he wasn't bringing her boxes of chocolates, that is. Oh, Indy. She'd been so frantically busy these last few days what with calling off the wedding and getting ready to make tracks, that she hadn't had time to think about tomorrow. Tomorrow-the day she would have married him. But with the last items on her list crossed off, the adrenaline that had kept her going faded. Exhaustion crawled up her spine and pinged in the tired muscles of her neck and shoulders. She leaned against the wall just for a moment, and...

Indy was sitting in the armchair by the window, reading the newspaper in his robe and slippers.

"You look comfortable," she remarked, "very husbandly."

"Do I, now?" The warm light glinted off his eyeglass frames as he looked up at her and smiled. "Figured I might as well practice, since I'll be a husband tomorrow."

She leaned on the doorjamb between the living room and the bedroom and smiled back.

"Your tux is ready to go, Jones, and" she added teasingly ,"since you're not supposed to see the bride till the wedding I guess I'll just say goodnight now."

Indy set down his newspaper and crossed the room in a few determined steps. "Oh no you don't, little lady. If I have to sleep in the living room you're not gettin' the bed to yourself. " Indy's voice was gruff but his eyes twinkled and a smile curled the corners of his mouth.

"So watcha gonna do about it?"...she challenged.

He swooped.

"Henry Jones! Put me down this minute!"

Marion's protests fell on deaf ears. She was picked up, slung over his shoulder, and carried off to the armchair.

"Aaah, don't kid the kidder, sweetheart." Indy slipped a finger under the spaghetti straps of her negligee. "A woman who wanted to be left alone wouldn't be wearing this little number."

Marion's grin was hidden in his chest. "Well...maybe not".

Indy pulled his robe around to cover them both and settled her, firmly, in his lap.

They had been bickering more than she liked, but her Indy's arms were still the safest place in the world...

"Mmmm...love my baby" he murmured, as he buried his face in the curve of her neck.

Satisfied, she laid her head on his shoulder and unbuttoned his pajama top to slip a hand inside, over his heart.

"Hey" said a velvet rumble next to her ear, "Is the groom supposed to get the bride a wedding present?"

"How the hell should I know? I've never done this before..."

"Well, I, um, didn't know either so I got you something just in case, Short Stuff..."

She snuggled in closer. "Funny you should mention that, Jones, because I have a surprise for you, too..."

A noise in the hall jolted her back to reality. I must have dozed. Yeah, that's the way things should have been tonight, the way I wish they were...

Marion gave herself a little shake. If wishes were horses, Abner used to say, then beggars would ride. Abner- what the hell. Maybe his ghost is still prowling that mountain, searching for more things he'll never find. At least Indy stranded me in New York, where they have electricity and running water.

She pressed her hands to her forehead and breathed deeply the way she'd learnt in Patan. She was damned if she'd cry in front of Col and Ox, or show anything but a cheerful face to the Majeskis. I survived Nepal, I can make it through this. Things are tough all over, and tears are a luxury I can't afford. She patted her barely rounding belly, lifted her chin, and pulled her shoulders back. Stick with me, kid, and we'll make it to Broadway, she told her baby.

Marion was rearranging her suitcase when she felt a hand touch her shoulder.

"I thought you might be taking a last look 'round" Colin said gently. "Ox and your super are deep in a discussion of Schleimann's discoveries at Mycenae, so I've come up to collect you. Mrs. Majeski is calling us a cab. We can drop your luggage at the hotel and maybe get an early dinner-it'll be a long day tomorrow."

Marion smiled. "Good plan. Flying to England's a major undertaking, and in a mail plane, no less..."

"You said it And there's-something else..."

Marion looked up uncertainly. Colin had been such a perfect gentleman so far, she hoped he wasn't going to stop now. It was such a refreshing change...

"What?" she said.

Instead of trying to kiss her, Colin reached into his jacket pocket.

"Father Christmas seems to have left something in your bedroom." He brought out a large pistol.

Marion's eyes widened. " My God, Col, it's Indy's gun. However did you come by that?"

Colin turned the Webley over in his hands.

"It fell out of the bed frame. I, ah, didn't think this was anything your super's son-in-law needed to see, so I pocketed it. Rather an odd spot for a gun, though. "

"Really?"

"Well, normally if one has a pistol, it's either secured or right at hand, not hidden between bed-springs and a wall."

"So what do you make of that, Sherlock Holmes?"

"I don't think" Colin said at last, "that this was forgotten. If our boy had just overlooked it -in the heat of the moment, so to speak, wouldn't it have been in the nightsta-"

Colin flushed-bad form to mention where Jones had been spending his nights- but he bit his lip and recovered quickly. "I mean, in a drawer, or some such thing? This was left out for you to find-likely on the bedspread. Probably just got lost in the general confusion."

"Maybe so" said Marion "I didn't notice it, but then, I haven't been sleeping in there. Well, not since Indy left, anyway."

"I see" said Colin. And did. He cast about for away to change the subject, but the big gun-and what it signified-hung between them like smoke from a distant campfire.

"Seems rather an odd memento, if you don't mind my saying so." He paused. "Does it have any special meaning for, er, the two of you?"

Marion frowned " I don't think-let me see- oh."

She bit her lip and her eyes misted over, but her voice remained steady and clear. "Yes, there's a bit of a story. Indy taught me how to shoot with this Webley- long ago and far away. He let me scratch my initials by the grip after I could break and reload it as fast as he could."

She pointed to the faint marks.

"There they are," said Colin, chuckling, " and with a little flourish on the 'R', too. You must have been very young."

"I was-only 14. Indy was oh, 24 or 25."

"Was he indeed?" said Colin. Those blue eyes met his, and Colin decided he'd best keep his opinion of grown men who took advantage of young girls to himself. At least for now. He forced a smile and said "Another place and time indeed. But why did Jones, of all people, teach you how to shoot?"

"Indy and Ox were both student's of my father's-you knew that, right? I used to go along on Dad's travels and digs, and Abner Ravenwood passed through some pretty rough places, let me tell you. Indy thought I needed the protection."

Her voice trailed off and Colin raised an eyebrow. "Well if you're looking for protection, you can't go wrong with this. My Da has a Webley from the Great War. He says the it's the best damn sidearm ever made- and I know a lot of pilots who carry one, as well. But you've been so scrupulous in tying up loose ends with Indiana-even sending back your engagement ring- are you sure you want to keep this?"

"I'm keeping something else of his" said Marion dryly. "And you're not the first man to tell me the Webley's the best damn sidearm ever made." Her hand drifted to her waist. " I may have to use it someday to protect this little one-I can swallow my pride for my baby's sake."

"I hope to God you'll never need it."

"I hope I don't either. But the world can be a very ugly place, Col."

"Yes it can. I'm just sorry that you know so much about that."

Marion opened the train case that held her makeup and overnight necessities. "Well the bellhop will surely think I'm some gangster's Moll if I start waving a gun in front of him. I'll just stash it in here for now." She wrapped the Webley in a scarf and tucked it in with her lingerie.

She straightened, and he automatically offered a hand to help her up. "We'd better get downstairs and turn in the keys, Col. Ox is waiting for us."

Colin grinned. "When last seen, Ox was on about a golden mask that may or may not have belonged to Agamemnon. He'll have to be reminded we exist." Their eyes met in wry understanding.

"Right then." Colin picked up the suitcase. "You take the train case, I'll carry this for you."

Colin stepped back and gestured for Marion to precede him. Instead, she smiled-faint and wavering, but a smile nonetheless- and took his arm.

He closed the door behind them.