Chicago, Illinois

October 1952

I have to be father and mother both, today….

Marion 'Mary' Williams smiled at the lanky teenage boy walking beside her over the fallow Illinois field.

"The guys can't believe that you know how to shoot, Mom. Bill's dad doesn't believe you own a Webley."

"Well, I do and I do, Mutt. The boys will just have to cope."

Sometimes, Marion was still amazed to be looking up at her son's face. There were times when she still expected to have a little boy reach for her hand, and was surprised at the effort it took to match a young man's long legged strides. But Mutt was growing up, no doubt about it, and today it was time for him to take another step. After all, she'd learned to shoot at 14.

I dreamed about Indy last night -only natural, I guess. We were out there in the desert and I was standing in front of him, shooting this gun at a target. Indy told me that nothing was going to hurt me while he was there. Only this time he kissed me, too, and said 'I love you, Bright Eyes'. I woke up crying for him, goddammit. But there's no time for that now- Mutt needs me and my boy comes first. A broken heart hasn't killed me yet-it can damn well wait till later.

They set up a target by the fence and walked back to the firing line together. Then Marion turned to her boy and took one of his big hands.

"Mutt, I know you want to get started, but before we do there are a couple of things you should know. A sidearm is different from the rifle shooting you did at Scout camp. When your father taught me to shoot the Webley, he also taught me some important things. And now, I guess I get to pass them on to you."

"Like what?" said Mutt, intrigued.

"He told me that drawing a sidearm is an act with consequences. One of those consequences, sadly, could be taking a life. He said that I had to be absolutely ready to face that if it came. This isn't a toy, son, it's a weapon- just like your blade is a weapon. And a weapon is a big responsibility. Do you understand that?"

"Yes."

"He also said that I should never have to use a gun except to defend myself or protect those I love. And I want you to promise me that's how you'll use his gun. Never for your own gain, never to show off or prove how tough you are. Do you promise?"

"I do. Scout's honor, Mom."

"Well then, I know your Dad would want me to tell you to be brave, shoot straight, and give 'em hell for him." Marion gave her son a misty smile, then got down to business.

"Now, stand by me and put your hands over mine. The Webley is really too big for me, so I have to use a two-handed grip. Your father could shoot it with one hand, and when you get your full growth you should be able to as well. For now, switch grips when you need to. First, we'll fire a few rounds together so you can get used to how it sounds and feels."

Those hands covered hers as easily as his father's had, now. Mutt flinched a little at the first kick and report, but his lips formed the word 'brave' and he steadied himself to try again. And again, and again, until he was holding the Webley by himself and his aim began to true.

It was a long drive back to the city, so Marion and Mutt stopped at a diner on their way home. Marion nibbled on a grilled cheese sandwich and watched, bemused, as Mutt devoured two cheeseburgers, a milkshake, and both of their fries. Then her son looked up, hopefully, and asked if there was any dessert.

The waitress brought a generous slice of coconut cream pie. "My boy's 16", she said, smiling. "I cut it extra thick."

Mutt grew thoughtful as he plowed through his plate, and Marion looked at him fondly over her coffee cup.

"What's on your mind, Mutt?"

Mutt sighed. "I wish I remembered more about my Dad-I was so little when he died. And all those things you told me-wow. It was like having him right there with us. He taught them to you and now I know them too. Dad-shi-I mean shoot- he was a real man's man, wasn't he?"

"Yes, he was. He was handsome and strong, tender and true, and very, very brave. But your father wasn't a hero out of books, kiddo, he was a flesh and blood human being . He had his faults, as do we all. But I think" Marion's voice caught in her throat, "that he'd be with you if only he could. And I'm sure that if he knew you he'd be very proud of you."

Mutt's face softened. In a heartbreakingly adult gesture, he caught his mother's hand between his, and brought it to his cheek, where the beard was beginning to grow.

"Do you miss him, Mom?"

"Every day. I still love him, honey. But I've learnt a lot of things since your father"… Marion paused and licked her lips… "went away. One of them is that nothing you've ever really loved is ever really lost." She smiled. "And I'm so lucky that I have you-and that you carry on so much of him."

"Am I really like my Dad? I mean, from the pictures I've seen, we don't look much alike."

Marion took a deep breath. "You favor the Ravenwood side some - you have my coloring and your build is leaner and more wiry than your Dad's. I wouldn't be surprised though, if you fill out when you're a little older. You'll be a pretty big guy when the rest of you catches up to those feet, kid- I wouldn't worry."

The feet in question, clad in very large boots, scuffed under the table.

"You've got your father's eyes," Marion continued, lost in memory, "and your smile-the one the girls think is 'dreamy'-that's from him, too."

Mutt ducked his head in embarrassment. "Geeze, Mom."

"And you're like him in other ways - you're very smart, like he was. You definitely hear the beat of your own drummer, the way he did. And you won't stand for seeing other kids bullied or hurt-I think he'd be the proudest of that. Not to mention that you're stubborn, though I think I contributed some there."

Marion grinned and signaled the waitress for the check.

"Speaking of which, I think you have Algebra homework, so we better be getting back."

Mutt sighed resignedly. Algebra. Oh, brother.

Mother and son headed into the gathering dusk, bound for home.